


We Take Care of Each Other

by keyflight790



Series: We Take Care of Each Other [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Harry Potter, Choking, Daddy Dom Neville Longbottom, Daddy Kink, Dom Draco Malfoy, Dom Neville Longbottom, Draco is the only one who penetrates Harry though, Flogging, For the Writer, Harry talks about his canon death and rebirth, Little Theodore Nott, M/M, Masturbation, More tags to follow, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Rimming, Safewords, Set in 2009, Sex Toys, So Teddy is turning 11, Spanking, Sub Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts, TW: Breakdowns, TW: Panic Attacks, TW: spousal abuse (Narcissa and Lucius mentioned in chap 10), Talks of Death, Teddy Lupin makes an appearance, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Neville Longbottom, Will tag all of these in chap notes as well, although it might seem like hes a dom at first, and notes and research, as does Luna and Rolf, bdsm club, but Neville is there.. a lot, but he doms in this fic, but not...sexually, but please don't judge the writer on their experiences, by reading this fic, daddy Neville Longbottom, did i mention theres spanking?, discussions of dying, dom/sub dynamics, draco is a bit of a switch, for squicks and such, harry gets spanked by, in case you were concerned, just for context, learn all of keyflights kinks, no problemo, note: every BDSM club is slightly different, past trauma discussions, self love, so if this isnt your experience, theres spanking, this is pretty indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 54,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Draco has been having panic attacks for years, until his best friend, Pansy, welcomes him into a whole new world. And he thought being a wizard was neat. Being a dom was even better.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Series: We Take Care of Each Other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929226
Comments: 462
Kudos: 1100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my Alpha, Ale | MarchnoGirl and Bella | SheAlwaysReads | OneReader my beta EvAEleanor and my Britpicker/Lifesaver Malenkayacherepakha. Also to Lex | CheekyTorah and Dewitty who have listened to me tease them about this fic for months. Big thanks to Thunder of Dragons who cheered me on for this journey, and a big thank you to all of the readers that came along as well. 
> 
> This is very much a self indulgent fic, the first one i've written for quite a while, and I'm more than excited about it. I really hope you enjoy it as well.

It wasn’t the first time it happened.

Draco sat trembling on his hard tiled kitchen floor, shards of whitebone china scattered at his feet. The porcelain pieces were all jagged, small, impossible to Reparo. He hadn’t even been thinking at the time, his mind focused instead on plastering a smile across his face. It wasn’t until the burning smell furled out of his oven that he realised something was wrong.

He had burned the roast. Again. This time only ten minutes before his mother and father were set to arrive for their monthly Sunday night dinner. Draco had failed once again, and upon that realisation, everything shattered.

He hurried all the pieces of expensive heirloom china into the bin and Flooed Pansy in a panic. Pans didn’t hesitate to cast over different place settings from her own lineage, and grittingly agreed to accompany him to the horrid dinner that was soon to occur. She even brought her own casserole, saint that she was. Molly always made enough food for everyone anyway; her contribution would not be missed at the Weasley household, and Ginny, mercifully and patiently, was quick with an excuse for Pansy’s absence.

Only minutes later, his mother was none the wiser that the seat she was currently sitting in was covered in shards of porcelain only moments before. His father, on the other hand, made some rude remark about how Parkinson china was inferior to the Malfoy heritage. Draco gritted his teeth and Pansy reached under the table to grip Draco’s hand before the window panes could crack.

“You have got to get your magic under control,” Pansy lectured as soon as his parents were safely through the fireplace and out of sight. “Your excuse about having your china magically cleaned might have passed this time, although don’t think for a second your mother actually believed you. And according to your dipshit father, my Aubergine Parm was dry.”

Draco fell into his favourite leather chair and buried his head in his hands. “I thought this was over when I set my ottomon on fire.”

Pansy sat on the armrest and wrapped her arm around Draco’s shoulder. She leaned close and pressed the corner of her forehead against Draco’s. “When your father asked when you’d be producing an heir?”

Draco slumped further forward. “No, that was when I shot that errant Reducio and turned my bedroom into doll furniture.”

“Right.” Pansy rubbed soothing circles into Draco’s back. “Do you think maybe you should-”

“Not an option, you know that.” Draco shook his head. “They’re my parents. I’m not cutting them off. Besides, they mean well. I just need to learn to channel my magic.” He clenched his hands into fists, angry that his own magical core was betraying him and behaving like some ridiculous child. 

The truth was, he hadn’t been able to harness his magic in a very long time. Not since his wand was harnessed by someone else. 

_ Potter _ . When he took his wand, or rather, Draco handed it to him in the heat of war, he let go of the one piece that helped him command his gift. Even though it was back in his hands in all of it’s Hawthorn glory, he wasn’t able to manipulate it as well as he had before. 

It didn’t happen all the time; not usually at Slug & Jiggers, where Draco was an apprentice, nor when he was playing two-aside Quidditch. His ‘events’ occurred in times of extreme stress, more often than not when his parents were around. Something about their presence made Draco feel off-kilter, panicked. Unsure, and unprepared. 

Still, they were his family, and he couldn’t stop being their child. No matter how cold his father was about his lifestyle. No matter how much his mother whined every Christmas that went by without a grandchild to spoil.

Draco rubbed his eyes, trying to steady his breaths as the stress of the evening passed. He had another thirty days before he had to deal with them again, and he tried to push the impending dread to the back of his mind. 

“You know,” Pansy said, her voice soft and calm and comforting, “I do have an idea.”

“What’s that?” Draco attempted to not sound rude, but he doubted Pansy had any suggestion that wasn’t ‘burn Lucius at the stake’.

Pansy paused her circles along his spine, and when he looked up at her, she winked.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

\---------

Draco stood nervously outside of Alice’s Holistic Maladies. He hadn’t been into this establishment, considering it was a direct competitor for his current proprietor, and he wasn’t sure how some non-potioned plants and herbs were supposed to solve his panic attacks. Still, Pansy had suggested it and he trusted her. With that in mind, Draco opened the solid wooden door and stepped inside.

The soft chime of a bell informed the shop of his arrival. 

“Hello, Draco!” a masculine voice welcomed him from the back.

Draco squinted through the dim light at the greeter. At first glance he looked tall, broad. His arms were exposed, a tank top stretched across his chest. As Draco ventured closer into the shop, he was able to see the man’s shaggy blond hair, his soft eyes, his charming smile. “Longbottom?” Draco walked to the counter in disbelief. “You work here?” 

Neville shrugged, and Draco couldn’t help but watch his shoulders rise and fall. “I own here. Pansy said you’d be stopping by.”

He continued to stare, his eyes wandering downward to read the writing across Neville’s tight shirt. ‘Plant Daddy’ was written in green flowing letters, and tiny daffodils were blooming at the end of each word, their golden yellow petals lengthening and contracting in a steady rhythm. 

Draco hadn’t seen Neville since the war, although that was only in a blur of fear and ash. The last time he had actually noticed Neville was weeks before, a glimpse down a hallway, Neville’s arms tucked around a second year, leading them to the Room of Requirement.

At the time, he knew he should have reported the spotting, the Room itself to the Carrows. But Draco had stopped reporting anything after that night at the Manor. When he lied to his mother for the first time and gave Potter his wand. When he knew for the first time what it felt like to be helpless under power.

Neville had...grown up since then. At Hogwarts he was clumsy, a bit cowardly. He never really made eye contact with Draco or his friends, and they had written him off as just another Potter supporter, not close enough to be a threat but not far enough to disregard completely.

Now, as Draco evaluated Longbottom for the first time in years, he could be more appreciative. He had certainly grown, or maybe his height was due to not cowering in fear. He certainly filled out a shirt better; Draco could practically see every outline of muscle under thin white fabric. 

He definitely seemed more confident, and whether it was because he was in his own shop, surrounded by his familiar plants, or because he just exuded that kind of energy in his late twenties, Draco wasn’t sure. He licked his lips as he pondered this fact, and it wasn’t until he heard a cough that he realised how long he’d been staring at the daffodils painted across Neville’s pectorals, one petal barely dusting a peaked nub of fabric.

“See something you like?” Neville said, and Draco instantly averted his eyes to a plant directly over Neville’s right shoulder. It was spouting red-hued berries, and Draco felt his cheeks flush in a similar fashion. 

“Didn’t know you owned such a horrid shop,” Draco hurried to criticize. Neville’s shop or not, it was still a direct threat to his own industry, and surely offered an inferior product. 

“Horrid indeed,” Neville chuckled, grabbing a bottle from the counter and giving the berry bush a spritz. “So horrid I’ve managed to stay open for five years now.”

Five years. Draco had been sitting behind a desk five years ago, and Neville had started a now-successful business. Typical Gryffindor. Potter was the same, already Head Auror at the ripe age of twenty-nine, while Draco was just starting his career. Not that Draco wasn’t ambitious; he had spent an additional eight years learning the ins and outs of potionwork. It was hard and strenuous, but it had prepared him for his line of work. He hadn’t had the time to keep up with most of his classmates, except for Pansy and Blaise of course. And he heard about Potter through Ginny, who he saw occasionally when he visited Pans. But Neville hadn’t come up. 

“Who’s Alice, then?” Draco itched for a change of subject, making a point to turn his body from Neville as he admired all the other plants and vines in the shop. One side was covered in dirt, housing a large number of trees with intertwining branches, several bearing fruit. Against the wall were several wooden shelves, all storing tiny succulents and colourful flowers and miniature cacti. It was quite stunning to see so much green inside, packed and blooming and bright. 

“Alice is my mother. That plant over there,” Neville pointed to a vine crawling up and jutting under a half-cracked window, “brought back her memory. As did Bellatrix dying, breaking some of her curses. Sorry about your aunt.”

“Congratulations for your mother.” Draco turned back and gave him a nod, careful not to venture past his neck.

“Well, now that the pleasantries are over, how can I help?” Neville stared at Draco, his hazelnut eyes strong and inquisitive.

Draco swallowed. He tried to meet Neville’s gaze, but Draco wasn’t used to asking for things. He was used to demanding, to throwing around his name and his perfect complexion to get what he wanted. He held eye contact as long as possible, but ultimately glancing at the floor when he finally gained the courage to speak. “Pansy is under the impression you can help me with a little issue I’m having.” 

“I think setting your furniture on fire is more than a  _ little _ issue.”

“Well if you already knew, then why did you ask?” Draco snapped his head, setting Neville with a glare. 

“To see if you could say it out loud.” Neville chuckled. “Admitting our faults is hard, admitting our needs is even harder.” Neville walked around the counter until he was standing directly in front of Draco. 

His commanding presence made Draco unwillingly nervous, and he let his eyes drop back to the floor until Neville placed a firm hand under his chin. “Tell me what you need, Draco,” he said, his brown eyes boring into Draco’s. 

Draco exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. He wasn’t quite sure what he needed, more so what he needed to stop his magic’s erratic behaviour. This was ridiculous. In school, Longbottom could barely control his own magic. There’s no way he’d be able to help Draco control his own. 

“This was a mistake,” Draco shook his chin out of Neville’s grip and turned toward the door. “I should have never listened to Pansy.”

He was almost at the door when Neville shouted out behind him. “Come back here tonight. 9:30. I’ve got a remedy I think will help you.”

\---

“Merlin, Pansy, what the fuck did you have me walk into?” Draco called over the Floo.

“I can’t talk about this here, Ron and the kids are over. Just...move, I’m coming through.”

Draco shifted out of his squat in front of the fireplace and got comfortable in his leather chair. When Pansy arrived, she quickly accioed two whiskeys from Draco’s cabinet, and thrust one into Draco’s hand.

“The kids are cute and all, but this is more of an adult conversation.” Pansy sat on the sofa, cradling her glass in her hands. “Ginny would be mortified if Ron knew what was going on.”

“And what, exactly,  _ is _ going on?”

Pansy shot back her whiskey in one gulp. “Ginny agreed that I could discuss this with you. She’s actually talked about it with...someone else close to her, and felt that you might benefit from the same conversation.”

“She told one of her friends about holistic maladies? Not quite a secret conversation.” Draco rolled his eyes as Pansy accioed another glass. “Although I am offended you would shop there instead of S&Js.”

“No, Alice’s is just what Neville works on during the day. At night, he’s quite a different person.”

“Different as in,” Draco was starting to get a headache, and he didn’t fancy stirring a potion on his day off for a remedy.

“He trades his gardening gloves in for leather.”

“What do his gloves have to do with anything?” 

“Everything, darling.” Pansy’s gaze went a little foggy, and Draco had to snap his fingers to get her attention again. She coughed, and continued. “Right. He’s a Dominant.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “A Dominant? I know he’s technically part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but there’s no way he’s more dominant than a Malfoy.”

Pansy shook her head. “Oh, my sweet summer child. This is not something that is passed down from generations. I doubt his grandmother knows how Neville spends his nights.”

“What does night have to do with it?”

“Merlin, Draco, you just hate not knowing something, don’t you?”

“Not sure,” Draco spat back. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “When two adults love each other very, very much, they give each other a special hug. And sometimes if they're feeling naughty, a spanking.” She winked, sending Draco a sultry smile.

Draco could feel the colour rushing to his cheeks. “I know how sex works, thankyouverymuch.”

“This isn’t sex. Well, sometimes it is, but sometimes it isn’t.”

“Okay, so Longbottom sometimes has sex, but sometimes doesn’t, and spanking someone like a petulant child is involved?”

“And leather. Again, just sometimes.”

“Okay, so Neville  _ Longbottom _ is a Dominant, with leather chaps and a whip and everything, which I find  _ very  _ hard to believe. How would you know this, Pans? He put Ginny in a ball gag in that Room they hid out in during Seventh?”

Pansy shook her head. “More like he showed Ginny how to put a ball gag in my mouth. And showed me how to take it.”

Draco pressed his finger to his temple. His headache was growing stronger by the second. “I don’t think you’re explaining this correctly.”

“Just come with me tonight, Draco. Neville invited you, and I think it’d be good.”

“To put a ball gag in my mouth? No thanks.”

“At least it would shut you up. Now be a doll and go get ready. We’re going to the club tonight.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of wandering around a BDSM club. No scenes in this one, but there is talk of toys and safewords. A brief mention of some past trauma with Draco dearest (vanishing cabinet talk)

Draco paced nervously outside of Alice’s at precisely 9:30pm. Pansy said she had an errand to run beforehand, leaving him alone in the dark, waiting for a bloody Gryffindor.

And he thought the cabinet had been a low point.

Longbottom finally appeared, magicking the door to his shop closed, and changing the glowing green sign from ‘Aloe!’ to ‘Sorry we had to Leaf!’ He stepped out into the cold London night, his cardigan buttoned tightly across his chest. Draco could still make out the petals on his shirt enlarging and contracting around the hunter green threads of his jumper.

Draco squinted, trying to see the Dominant behind the knit, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t imagine his former classmate in any amount of leather, let alone with any of the toys Pansy had been discussing. 

Not that Draco was sure exactly what Pansy was going on about. Draco had never been in that type of sexual situation. Or any situation for that matter. However, inexperience was not a valid excuse for a Malfoy, so Draco squared his shoulders and walked as confidently as possible in Longbottom’s direction.

“You showed!” Neville grinned as he held out his hand.

“Indeed,” Draco tried to give a firm handshake, but found himself grasped hard by Longbottom’s hand. Shit. He was strong. Probably from lifting pots and bags of dirt all day. Frankly disgusting. No matter. He shook his hand slightly when Longbottom released his grip. “So, Pansy tells me we’re going to a BMDS club.” 

Neville nodded, and pointed down the road. “BDSM, actually.” He side-glanced at Draco, who was sneering into the dark. “Stands for—”

“I know what it stands for.” Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. “The club I went to, we called it something else, that’s all.”

Draco thought he heard a chuckle, but chose to ignore it. 

“The clubs called  _ Sugarquill _ ,” Neville continued. “It’s a little different from the one I trained at in Berlin, but it has some really great qualities.” Neville began walking into the darkness, leaving Draco no choice but to follow. “Quite a variety of options, and the added Magical elements really keep things interesting.”

Draco hummed in response, hoping he sounded like he was fully aware of what Longbottom was talking about. They were passing Stowe & Packers Magical Bags when Neville suddenly stopped short. 

Draco curiously watched as Neville pulled out his wand and tapped a series of rhythms against what seemed to be an ordinary lamp post. With a whoosh of wind and magic, the post began to lower into the earth, revealing stone steps heading toward a bead of light underground.

“You want me to go there?” Draco asked, horrified. “It looks filthy.”

Longbottom cocked his head. “Don’t like being dirty, Draco? This might not be the place for you after all.”

He felt cornered and dared, by a lion no less. “No, no, I—I was more worried about you and that fancy jumper. Wouldn’t want you to mess it any more than you already have.”

“That’s what cleaning spells are for,” Longbottom turned toward him and winked, drawing his lips into a sultry smile. “Follow me. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

With that, he headed down the stairs, and once again, Draco followed.

The door at the bottom opened, flooding the staircase, and Draco squinted at the sudden onslaught of light. Throwing an arm up to shade the brightness, Draco dutifully followed Longbottom through what almost looked like the lobby of a fancy hotel. The wixen behind the counter smiled as they approached, and offered out a clipboard.

“Right. So, before we can go in, I need you to sign a waiver,” Neville explained as he handed Draco the parchment. 

Draco took his time reviewing the forms. The words ‘Vow of Privacy’ was scrawled across the top, and throughout the entirety of the document. He raised an eyebrow, scanning the cleanly printed words for context.

“It’s pretty standard, similar to what you had at your old club, I’m sure.” Longbottom smiled softly before continuing. “But just in case there’s anything different, the major points are anonymity and safety.” He paused, and once Draco finished scanning the script, he continued.

“You may recognise some people here. Old classmates, friends. Glamours and Polyjuice are not allowed, which is why the club’s walls are sacred. We do not discuss the club outside of these walls, unless both parties consent. Is that clear?”

Draco nodded. He thought he might see Pansy Ginny, but Draco wondered who else might be hiding inside the club walls. “Do you need me to make an Unbreakable?”

Neville shook his head. “You’ll find that trust is vital in this space. That’s why you needed two representatives to confirm your application before you were allowed an invite.”

“You and Pansy,” Draco concluded, signing the document with a flourish of his quill.

“Actually, Pansy and Gin.” Neville took the signed clipboard from his hand. “She was quite demanding that the club offerings be extended to you.”

“Ginny vouched for me?”

“Trust, Draco.” Neville smiled softly. “Gin trusts this club and the results it’s had for her. And she thinks you’ll be happy here.”

Draco hadn’t really thought Gin cared for him much, only put up with him for her partner’s sake. So the fact that she advocated for anything that might benefit him was quite surprising. However, he still wasn’t quite sure what he was getting into exactly.

“Okay, anonymity,” Draco said. “What was the second one?”

“Safety.” Neville cracked his fingers and shook out his hands before dropping them to his sides. “Everyone has consented to be here, and if they are in certain rooms, they have consented to being watched or interacting with others. However, we have safe words on the wards. If at any time, anyone speaks their safeword, everything stops.” Longbottom looked pointedly at Draco. “We need to log your word into the wards.”

“And by safeword, you mean…”

“A word you would say if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, in pain, or if you don’t want to play anymore. It should be something you won’t forget, and one that wouldn’t come up in the heat of the moment.” Longbottom wrinkled his nose. “For example, my word is Petrificus.”

A red glow lit up around Neville as he said the word, and it took Neville stating an incantation while snapping his wand for the glow to dissipate.

Draco grimaced. “Does it have to be something you hate?”

“It helps. Especially if you’re trying to exit the mindset you’re in. And you won’t accidentally say it otherwise.”

“Right.” Draco nodded in understanding. He tried to think of something he hated so much it would make his cock shrivel up. He shivered, his mind instantly filling of the Vanishing cabinet, the tiny innocent bird crumpled at the bottom, never able to chirp again. Yes. that word would do. “Canary,” he responded blandly. 

“Perfect!” The wixen behind the counter cheered, and raising their wand, added Draco’s choice to the wards. “Now, Mr. Longbottom here will escort you to the play area!”

“Ready for the grand tour?” Longbottom grinned before turning and leading Draco to a door that had just materialized on their right. 

Draco nodded, rolled his shoulders back, and followed Longbottom over the threshold.

\---

Draco dutifully followed Neville down a long narrow hallway, walls bland and beige, that eventually spread into an open room. “The spaces we just passed are private, for those who want to play without Voyeurs peeking in,” Longbottom explained. “If you want to utilize a room, a door would appear for you. But out here, we’re welcome to observe anyone we want.” 

Draco surveyed the large room. A bed-like stage sat in the middle, while the walls were lined with various apparati that he couldn’t quite identify, as well as clear windows into variously sized rooms. A large wooden cross stood stoic against one wall, with what appeared to be handcuffs on either side. He also couldn’t stop staring at the shelves. They were much like the ones in Neville’s store, except instead of tiny harmless plants, they were filled with leather straps and sticks, cock-like dildos and teardrop-shaped toys.

“Anal plugs,” Longbottom nodded toward the wall. “And right next to them, we have crops, paddles, floggers and those on the end are canes.”

“Of course,” Draco nodded.

“Of course.” A small smile played across Longbottom’s face before he turned to Draco. “You know, it’s okay if this isn’t familiar. I didn’t know what any of this was the first time I stepped into a club.”

“This isn’t—”

“I’m not saying it’s your first time. I’m simply sharing my experiences. And I found it much easier to embrace this lifestyle when I was being honest with myself and those around me.”

Honesty. That was rich. Leave it to a Gryffindor to put all of his cards on the table.

Still, Draco did have...concerns. Maybe asking a few questions wouldn’t hurt. 

“Why don’t you tell me about how you got started, and I can...see if it’s similar to mine?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville goes to the club, Draco at his heels. What will they find there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safeword discussion, as well as past relationships, and a scene involving a dom caning a sub (not any HP characters). Draco has a bit of panic, and a discussion about needs.

“You want to hear how I became a dominant?” Neville grinned, and something about that smile made Draco feel warm inside. Like he could relax, even just the slightest bit. 

He didn’t, but it was a nice feeling all the same. 

Neville walked over to the wall and picked up a long, black switch with a tiny square of leather knotted to the end. “As I’m sure you can understand, I wasn’t too...experienced when I left the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.”

Draco involuntarily nodded. He hadn’t really considered how much action everyone else was getting between the castle walls, only how little he himself was getting. There had been a brief time when he and Pansy were canoodling in the darkened corners of the dungeon, but they both realised quickly enough that any spark they thought should have existed between lifelong friends had long since fizzled out. Pansy had quickly moved on to snogging Blaise, and then after the war she had bumped into -

“Ginny liked to tell me what to do, where to put my hands, how to hold her and touch her.”

Draco snapped back into the conversation. “You slept with Ginny? Ginny Weasley?”

Neville released the tip of the leather from his hand before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, staring at a dimly lit corner of the room. “I thought she was the one, for a while. First love and all that. But we were kids, and there was the war.”

“And Potter.”

Neville’s eyes snapped back to Draco, and his fingers wrapped once again around the whip, his other elbow flexing so the toy thrummed against his palm. “And Potter,” he said as his lips stretched into a smile. “But really, it was Pansy that freed Ginny.” 

“Funny.” Draco pursed his lips as he watched the bit of leather sting Neville’s skin. “I thought it was the other way around.”

“You’ll find these relationships aren’t about one person’s needs over another.” Neville stopped bouncing the whip against his palm and instead gripped it in his fist. “There has to be an equal exchange for any relationship to work.” 

Neville stepped over to the wall, and placed the whip back on the shelf. He picked up a feather in its place, threading the soft fibers in between his fingers as he walked back to the center of the room. 

“I didn’t understand that at first. That it wasn’t just about punishment and submission and following commands. I liked hearing what my partner wanted, and providing that. So when my ex said he wanted to dominate me, it made sense.”

“He?” Draco coughed awkwardly. 

“He,” Longbottom nodded in confirmation. “We went to the club. He tied me up, commanded me to do things. I had felt weak for so long, during school, during the war, that pleasing him made me feel strong.”

Draco thought back to Longbottom, hanging from the chandelier while Cornish Pixies nibbled at gnawed on his ears. Then, when he fainted in the Greenhouses after the Mandrakes cried. The way he held his Monster Book of Monsters in Third Year like he was terrified it’d eat him alive. 

But then Draco thought of Neville, wielding the sword from the Sorting Hat, slicing the head straight off of the snake that slithered horrifyingly through Draco’s dreams. 

He’d been wondering that all afternoon; If he’d be the one in the ball-gag, or the one holding the crop. Honestly, he wasn’t sure. Sometimes he had felt so small, so useless during the war. And since, carrying the Dark Mark, a perfect symbol of why he should be feared and hated. A part of Draco felt like he should be punished, whipped and chained, spit on and ridiculed. That’s what he deserved. Not pleasure, but torture.

“But I thought you were a dom. At least from what Pansy said. Trading your gloves out for leather and all that.”

Neville chuckled. “That’s what I learned at the club.” He ran the feather up one of his arms, and then back down the other. Draco couldn’t help but follow the path, as the white dipped into the crevices between his muscles, as it danced along his collarbone, as it rippled down his forearm into his other hand. 

It looked so soft, so soothing, so different from what Draco had been expecting when he walked into the club. Although, he hadn’t known what to expect on any account.

“We learned, well,  _ I _ learned that being a Submissive doesn’t mean you’re weak. And being a Dominant doesn’t mean you’re strong. It’s the balance of the two that’s important.”

Neville tilted his head back towards the hallway. “Walk with me. I’ll show you what I mean.”

They headed toward one of the glass windows, where Neville took out his wand and pressed against a tiny indentation in the facade. To Draco’s surprise, what he thought was a clear window showcasing an empty room suddenly filled with shapes. People. 

“This is one of our dungeon rooms,” Neville began to explain. “And when someone is watching, that little candle in the corner turns green.”

Draco followed the path of Neville’s finger, and sure enough a candle towards the back of the room was glowing, an emerald light that flickered across the harsh metal.

As his eyes trailed downwards, he noticed more. A set of hooks curling out of the wall; a flat table, covering nearly the length of the room; a man, naked, spread over a bench.

He inhaled sharply. Draco could see  _ everything. _ The welts across his lower back, the purple bruises across his arse; the way his cock hung, hard and dripping. His red hair curled around his face, stuck to the base of his neck with sweat. His mouth hung open, and Draco could hear the cries escaping his throat every time the thin black cane made contact with his skin.

“He’s enjoying that?” Draco asked, aghast, as the man across the bench gasped out “Eight!” after the cane crashed down against his thighs.

Neville tilted his head. “You’ll find there’s a very thin line between pain and pleasure.”

The man screamed out “Nine,” as Draco gasped again, hearing the crash of cane against skin. 

“Sometimes we crave things we can’t explain. Taking or relinquishing control over our bodies can be a complicated need.”

“I can’t imagine needing that.”

“The taking, or the letting go?”

Draco pursed his lips, but didn’t answer.

“I thought I wanted to let go, to rely on orders and commands.”

One more crack, the man whimpering “Ten” into the bench, before his restraints were unlocked, before he was pulled to the other man’s chest.

“But what I actually craved was control,” Neville continued, as he watched the man in leather soothe the broken man, wipe his tears from his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin. “During the war, I had to hold it all together. Keep the First Years safe, keep everyone protected. And then when Harry came back,” Longbottom paused, inhaling a deep breath. “When he died, I couldn’t give up. I took control, I stood up. And at the time I thought it was something anyone would have done. But now I know better.”

Neville stepped back, closing the window from view. Draco couldn’t help but continue to stare at the now blank wall, imagining the couple behind it, holding each other as they cried.

“I knew that the Prophecy could have easily been for me.” Draco turned just in time to watch Neville return the soft feather and Accio a crop from the wall.. “I knew I could have been laying in Hagrid’s arms just as quickly as Harry. But I wasn’t. I still had a voice. I still had control.”

It reminded him of fixing the cabinet. How he wished he could have done anything else. How the weight of  _ what _ he was working towards, the invasion, Dumbledore’s death, all felt like it was happening  _ to _ him. Not by him. 

How much he had itched to stop the entire plan, to destroy the cabinet and go to the Headmaster, to throw the necklace into the Great Lake and never look back. But he couldn’t. Not when his parents, his Godfather were all depending on him. Not when they were all at risk.

Draco would do anything for the people he loved. Taking the Mark, if it meant keeping his family safe. Even looking back, he’d do it again. 

“The club, this outlet, offers a space to alleviate the stresses of the outside world. We’re safe here, cared about.” Draco could feel Longbottom studying him carefully, but his face was set in a passive stare. “You don’t have to decide tonight, if you want the control or want to let go. And if you want both, that’s alright too. Or if this is all too much, we never have to talk about it again.”

He paused, and Draco took the time to gather his thoughts. There was so much to process, the toys, the room. The club itself, with potential patrons he might know, with people having  _ sex _ and who knows what else behind each wall. As much as Draco didn’t want to admit his inexperience, the waves of information were crashing all around him, drowning him. He pulled at the collar of his robes, suddenly unable to catch his breath.

“I-,” he started to say, but instead of finishing his statement, Draco turned his back on the room and fled from the club.

\---

Neville found him up the stairs and back on the pavement, hunched over with his head between his thighs. The cold night air whipped around him, and Draco focused on his breaths, in-two-three, out-two-three. He heard Neville approach, his boots crunching in the fallen leaves, but Draco didn’t stand. 

He knew he should have. That he should wipe his eyes and straighten his spine and pretend that it didn’t feel like a boulder was crushing his windpipe, and that everything was close, too close and that he couldn’t breathe. 

But he couldn’t force himself to stand. Instead, he remained tucked, bent at the hip. He worried for a moment that Neville was going to try and touch him, put a hand around his shoulders and he’d have to shrug it off, or worse, he’d get violent and push him away. 

When he got like this, when the world was crushing around him, the last thing Draco could handle was being touched. Or being stared at, or being asked if he was alright. Of course he wasn’t. He hadn’t been truly alright in at least a decade, and he certainly wasn’t alright in the middle of the street, outside of a lamppost that secretly hid rooms full of whips and chains and ball gags and plugs and who else knows what.

But Neville didn’t try to touch him. Instead, he spoke, loud and clear and steady.

“Hermione gave me my safe word. She, of course, will never know that. But in First Year, she used that spell on me. Petrificus Totalis. Stunned me with a spell we wouldn’t learn for two more years, and left me rock solid on the common room floor, while they went off to chase some fluffy dog. I mean, sure, they saved the world that night, but they left me all bound and essentially gagged.” Neville let out a small chuckle. “I wet myself within the first ten minutes. That spell freezes your body but not your faculties, did you know?”

Draco shook his head, but kept it downward, between his legs, where it was safe.

“Seamus actually found me. He had a tendency to run out for late night snacks, and he rushed out to get Pomfrey. Had me unfrozen in minutes, and then helped walk me to the showers.”

“You do realise you just told a Slytherin you pissed your pants.” Draco mumbled, finally lifting himself by the hips, rolling his shoulders as he stood back up.

“Actually, I just confessed to a friend that I trust where my safe word comes from.”

Draco locked eyes with Neville. His gaze was soft, kind, wide open in the pale strips of light from the lamppost. 

“I’m going to ask that you trust me as well, Draco. Can you do that?”

He wanted to. He wanted the panic to stop, he wanted the attacks to disappear. It was against everything he had been taught, everything that ran through his bones and his blood, but his upbringing had led him to nothing but strife. Maybe trying something new, as radical as honesty and trust, would help. It could be a disaster, but it could also be exactly what he needed.

“Yes,” Draco answered, his heart pounding in his chest. “I think I can.”

A wide smile crossed Neville’s face, and it was as if Draco was suddenly covered with the warmth of a blazing sun, cutting through the dark dreary night. 

“Great!” Neville paused, his smile still large and inviting. “I’m going to ask you a question, then. And it’s very personal, but if we’re going to do this I need to know.”

He stepped closer to Draco, put his hand under his chin, and lifted it like he had earlier in the shop. “What do you need?”

For the first time in his life, Draco felt himself answer honestly.

“I don’t know.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville and Draco chat at a bar like two new friends

“I don’t know.”

Draco couldn’t imagine three words could be so painful to say. He had never felt more vulnerable as he did standing in almost pitch-black by a lamppost that was secretly stairs leading to a sex dungeon, in front of a bloody Gryffindor who asked him to bare his soul.

But instead of laughing, or mocking, or giving him a weird look, Neville simply smiled even more than he had, nodded his head once, and said, “Let’s get a drink then.”

“Now?”

“It’ll be easier. You’ve got a bedtime?” Neville quirked his eyebrow.

“Not in the least.” Draco smirked, and he could feel his mask molding back over his face, filling in the cracks he had just made. It was probably better that they have this discussion right away, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to feel this vulnerable again, especially not so soon. However, his chest constricted when he thought about the closest options for late night establishments. “Somewhere muggle though,” he added. If he were to see someone he recognized, or have to worry about being overheard, he wouldn’t have a choice.

“Muggle, of course. I know the perfect place.”

\----

“Wetherspoons?” Draco stood in front of the white building, bustling with waitresses holding trays full of stouts and twisted, salted bread and hamburgers piled high with pickled onions and sauce.

“It’s muggle.” Neville shrugged.

“It’s horrid.”

“No one will recognize you here.”

“I should hope not,” Draco shook his head. His mother had once told him that pubs were where whores and miscreants gathered, and he should never set foot in such an establishment. She had also told him that acquiring the death mark would bring his family honour, when it only brought him shame. 

He followed Neville in, and they settled into a corner booth, Draco making sure his back was to the wall and his eyes could track every patron that ventured in. Force of habit, he knew, but it made him feel calmer. So did a whisky, which he acquired with a wave of his hand. 

Neville ordered a beer, light, frothy, and when he took the first sip, a bit of it stuck to his upper lip. Draco’s mind wandered for a moment, wondering what it would be like to lean over the table and lick it off, kiss those lips, feel that body pressed against him.

Even though he hadn’t ever experienced a man’s touch, he had definitely spent more than an adequate amount of time fantasizing about it. Birds were all soft, curves and flowing hair and Glamours coating their eyes and their noses and their mouths. And while he enjoyed the softness, the lankiness and the jut of hip bone, he didn’t love the falsities. The prim smiles, the seductive gaze under false lashes. As much as he liked to front his own personality, he craved to be with someone who was real. Honest. Open. 

He turned back to Neville, who was still wearing a solid grin with no signs of stopping.

“Now that we’re settled, tell me about the last time you were intimate with someone,” Neville asked, his face so innocent over the top of his glass.

Draco practically spit out the brown whisky he had just downed. “Just jumping right in, are we Longbottom?”

“No time like the present,” Neville shrugged. “Would it help if I cast a Silencing charm?”

“It would help if I vanished completely.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about your dalliances?” Neville’s voice didn’t sound pestering, or even judgemental, more curious. “I do have some Veritaserum. Might loosen you up?”

Draco knocked back his whisky in one stinging gulp. “Another one of these would help.”

Neville flagged over the bartender, and acquired a full glass of amber liquid to replace Draco’s empty glass. He took another sip of his own beer as Draco wasted no time in emptying the bitter whisky again in one heady swallow.

It was now or never. He thought about taking Neville’s offer, giving over to the sweet release of Verita, but he knew he needed to do this on his own, if he was ever going to accomplish what he wanted. If he was going to pursue this, he needed to do it on his own.

“My last relationship was with Pansy.”

“Parkinson?” 

“The same.”

“She’s been with Ginny for-”

“Five years at least, although I’d say she was pining after her before Potter even knew she had tits.”

“I don’t think Harry cared much about her tits, to be honest.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. So five years ago?”

“fiffffnn,” Draco mumbled into his fresh glass of whisky, forcing himself not to down it in one gulp.

“What was that?”

Fuck it. Whisky down the hatch.

“Fifteen, okay? It’s been fifteen years.”

Bless Neville, he only raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Draco, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and threw his hands against the tiny metal table.

“We were thirteen. I didn’t know what I was doing, but whatever I did, it was wrong.”

“Sexually?” Neville asked innocently.

“No, no, we never got that far. I wouldn’t hold her hand at the right time, or I would partner with someone else in potions, or, oh, this is rich, one time she said I didn’t pat her head properly. As if there’s a proper way to pat one’s head.”

“Oh.” Neville grinned again, just as wide as before. “There’s a proper way. Took Ginny weeks to learn it.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Neville shrugged. “So you haven’t been with anyone since Hogwarts.”

Draco’s glass was empty, and while he was feeling the slightest bit fuzzy, it still wasn’t enough. “Want to hear about my sex life, Longbottom? Give me another whisky and a shot of that serum you seem to be carrying around for no reason.”

Another wave to the bartender brought Draco a fresh glass, but he turned his head as it approached. It wasn’t until Neville coughed that he turned back, knowing that the veritaserum was now mixing through the sweet liquid. He downed half the glass in his first sip, and then placed it back on the table with an audible thump.

He was silent, waiting for the serum to seep into his veins, and after taking another sip, Neville began to speak.

“So you were with Pansy when you were younger. Are you sexually or emotionally attracted to anyone now?”

“Not Pansy, that’s for sure.”

“And why is that?”

“She’s so demanding. Honestly, when she told me she was the one on her knees I didn’t believe her.”

Neville simply shrugged. “Who we are during the day isn’t always what we crave at night. Pansy and Ginny both consented I share this with you, so I will.” He picked up his beer, and took another sip, but didn’t put it down. Instead he cradled it in his hand as he spoke.

“Pansy grew up, I would assume, very similar to yourself. Overbearing parents, wanting what they thought was best for their children. The weight of their expectations fell heavily on Pansy’s shoulders, where she felt like she was holding everything together. Her parent’s marriage, her pureblood status, the fact that she was sexually attractive to both her classmates and her father’s friends. It came to a point where she couldn’t get out of bed.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Pansy is very good at putting on a mask.”

Draco knew that better than anyone. They had both grown up learning how to hide their feelings, not shed a tear, not blush, not even laugh in public. Still to this day, Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his father truly smile. He’d only heard his mother cry behind closed doors, and while he fought with every fibre of his being, he did not go to comfort her. It was not the Malfoy way. 

“Other than Pansy,” Neville continued, pulling Draco out of his memories, “have you fancied anyone since school? As an adult?”

“Yes,” Draco answered automatically, thankful for the serum that was by now running through his veins. 

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it, over the years. Sex, that is. Or, who he would pursue if he wasn’t who he was, if he hadn’t done what he had done. Pansy was gorgeous, of course, and had been a close friend as well as a pureblood. Dating her, marrying her, would have made his mother happy. 

He wished he didn’t care what made her happy anymore, in the same way he wished he didn’t notice his father’s turned-up nose each time he entered his flat. But they were his family, and no matter how much he tried, that still meant something to him. 

Still, Draco’s fantasies had wandered outside of the sacred list on more than one occasion, and had even flitted to a more masculine frame opposed to all dips and curves. It was more than a physical response he craved, however. He really had to know who he was getting into bed with. Metaphorically, of course. Draco had never slept in anyone else’s bed but his own. 

“So what’s been holding you back?” Neville pried the slightest bit.

Draco blew out a breath, and relied on the veritaserum to answer. “I’m a Death Eater.”

“Former.”

“There’s no former. A murderer is always a murderer. You can’t just pretend that part didn’t happen, that I haven’t done what I’ve done.”

“You never killed anyone.”

“I killed a bird. I almost killed Bell and Weasley. I tried to kill Dumbledore for fuck’s sake.” Draco wished he could bottle this anger, stopper it and hide it on the darkest shelf in the dankest basement. Instead, he let his anger flare, until the cups on their table began to vibrate, until the entirety of the restaurant was filled with the tinkling of glass as they shook across the metal tables. 

Neville placed his hand over Draco’s and stared directly into his eyes.

“You didn’t though, Draco. That’s not who you were, and it’s not who you are”

Draco shook his head, took a deep breath, and felt the magic recoil. Around him, the glasses stilled and the clinking dissipated. Still, he could feel the anger buried, coal hot in the pit of his stomach. He twisted his wrist out of Neville’s grasp, and with a screech of his barstool, Draco stood and pointed his chin high in the air. 

“My aunt practically killed your parents, Longbottom. What kind of person would be sick enough to date me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco recovers from last nights club visit, and chats with a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's trying to overcome some deep-rooted thinking, so there's a bit of a shaming vibe. Please note that Draco is working on it!

Draco spent the night tossing and turning, images of Neville’s shop filled with flowers, of the club, shelves filled with toys, of the man, spread and pink-cheeked and moaning.

He woke up hard and shaking. At some point during the night, he must have shucked his joggers, choosing instead to passively pull his cock out from their cotton confines and into the silk of his palm. His hand was already tugging along his length, and, dropping his head back into the safety of his pillows, Draco muttered a spell to lubricate the path of pleasure.

Already vibrating with need, it only took a few more pulls and one final twist of his wrist before he was coming, hot and hard. With a loud whine, Draco spilled all over his palm as he crested into his orgasm. 

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he woke up with such a need to come, his body working on instinct to bring him the pleasure he seemingly craved. But now that he had, he felt like he could breathe just a bit better, like he was lighter somehow.

Quickly Vanishing the evidence, Draco was about to drag himself into a much needed shower when an owl began to peck at his toes.

> _Floocall me when you wake up. I want to hear all about it. Also, it’s noon, what the fuck are you still doing asleep?_
> 
> _\- Pansy_

Draco scoffed. He could sleep as long as he craved, _thankyouverymuch_.

Taking his time in the shower, Draco tried to wash the previous night off of his skin. The dirt of the club, but also what he saw, the filth, the depravity. He scrubbed his scalp harder than he ever remembered before, filling the bathroom with smells of lavender and orange, but even his favourite scents didn’t calm his nerves.

He used a Close Shave spell and a hair emulsifying charm and all the other bits of magic that would possibly delay the inevitable conversation. Begrudgingly, he settled in front of his Floo and called for his closest friend, who he was learning more about every day.

“It’s 2pm.”

“You can tell time, mummy must be so proud of you,” Draco smirked. 

“And you can tell me about your night with dear dommy,” Pansy chided. “Come over, I have wine.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, but pull out the good stuff.”

“Well we certainly can’t drink Italian plonk before dinner.”

His hand was instantly filled with a glass of merlot as soon as he walked through the Floo. He settled at the end of Pansy’s lemon-coloured sofa, crossing his ankles below him as he took the first calming sip of wine. It went down easily, way easier than whisky. 

“So how was the club?” Pansy asked, settling herself on the other end of the couch. The chair next to her was covered in layers of cloth, several sewing needles weaving in and out as they combined different colours of silk to tulle.

“I thought you were going to be there.”

“We were!” Pansy grinned. “Got there about 10, after Gin’s Quidditch practice. She had quite a bit of energy left, surprisingly.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, honey,” Pansy smirked, “everyone wants to know what we get up to. We had quite an audience. I’m surprised you didn’t see the group.”

“I didn’t see much of anyone, ‘cept Longbottom.”

Pansy nodded in understanding. “He must have taken you to the training room. First time we went, he took us straight back there, had me on my knees in minutes.” Her gaze went a bit glossy as they drifted to a blank spot on her back wall. 

“Woman,” Draco said before clearing his throat. “Do stay focused.”

Her eyes went wide as she redirected her attention to Draco. “Right. So you didn’t see anyone?”

Draco thought back to the night before, to the room through the looking glass. “I wouldn’t call a fully strapped Dominant beating the shit out of some redhead no one.”

“Ah, that’ll be John. Not his real name, I don’t think, but he tends to like the redheads. He’s always asking Gin about Ronnykins.”

“No.”

“Yep. Not that he’d stray from Hermione, but he’s a bit wound up. Could use a good paddling, Ron could.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“No one does, darling. Except maybe Granger.”

Draco shuddered.

“So what did you think? Did Neville give you the checklist for you to highlight what you want?" Pansy grinned. "I had a lot of fun filling that one out."

"He did," Draco nodded, leaving out the part where he didn't understand half the words. What were _Manacles_ , and who played with _fire_ during sex?

"Want to spank a ginger yourself?” Pansy asked, raising one of her perfectly drawn eyebrows, trying to guess what was on Draco's list. “Or want a ginger to spank you? I’m not lending Ginny out, mind, but next time Charlie’s in town…”

“I don’t want any Weasleys, Merlin’s beard.”

Pansy threw up her hands. “No Weasleys, got it! Because of their lack of vagina? Gin excluded, of course, but her snatch is well tended to.”

“Gross.” Draco frowned. 

He’d never actually admitted out loud, or even to himself that his glances had favoured one gender over another. But Pansy was his best friend, and bisexual to boot. If anyone could understand, it would be her.

“It’s not the lack of fanny.”

“Noted,” she continued without a pause. “So a Gryffindor thing?”

“It’s not the Gryffindor thing.”

This time she raised an eyebrow. 

“Interesting,” Pansy smirked. “So, Longbottom-”

“He’s my instructor.”

“Wood.”

“Pants at Quidditch, did you see that fumble last week? Cost the Arrows the game.”

“McLaggen.”

“Absolute failure on a broom.”

“Potter.”

Draco paused. “He’s...acceptable at Quidditch.”

“He handles a broom well, I’d say.”

“But his sense of style is preposterous.”

“I think he’s easy on the eyes,” Pansy shrugged.

Draco tried to think of the last time he even saw Potter. It wasn’t at school, but it wasn’t long after. A glance down an alley after attending some ridiculous soiree his mother had dragged him to, a last minute effort to salvage the Malfoy name. That glance had provided more of Potter than he had even seen before Seventh, his throat tilted upward, exposed in the pale moonlight. That same luminescence had trickled down Potter’s chest, revealing the piece of Potter even the paper hadn’t uncovered.

That small glimpse of Potter’s cock, ridged in another man's hand as he trailed bites down Potter’s bared throat had been enough to completely fuck up Draco’s world.

Yes, Potter was easy enough on the eyes to elicit weeks of wanking material. He had tried to push it to the back of his mind, the thought of the Chosen One against the wall, or on his blessed knees, his mouth gasping, his throat arched, his cock hard and wanton. 

Not that Draco mentioned any of this to anyone, including Pansy. Especially how much Potter being queer had awoken something deep inside him. Something, after weeks of wanking, he couldn’t quite admit, but he couldn’t quite ignore. 

Fuck Potter.

“I don’t want your girlfriend’s seconds,” was the best Draco could come up with amidst the turmoil of thoughts tumbling through his mind. 

Pansy’s laugh surprised Draco. “Seconds? Potter’s more into cock than he’s into twats. Didn’t you know?”

“But surely-”

“They snogged, sure. A long, long time ago. Potter felt like he had something to prove.”

“And what was that?”

Pansy cocked her head. “Same thing as you, darling. That he could live up to everyone’s expectations.”

Wasn’t that the rub. Doing everything you could to please others, and still falling short. Still finding, at the end of the day, that you’re a failure.

Potter hadn’t failed though. He did what he was supposed to do, and unlike cowering Draco, he succeeded.

“And now?” Draco asked, curiosity overruling a snarky response.

“He’s a treasured hero,” Pansy shrugged. “During the day, at least.”

“What does that mean?”

Pansy simply smiled, mostly to herself as she had another sip of wine. “Ask Longbottom.”

Draco bit his lip. “He invited me back. To the club.” 

Longbottom’s owl had appeared only moments after he left the shower, flying in the open window gracefully, it’s talons gripping to the mahogany footboard at the end of Draco’s bed.

_Class begins tonight. Small group, we’re just covering basics. Would love to see you there. 9pm. Password: Kismet._

Draco had quickly folded the letter and tucked it deep in his pocket. Even though he lived alone, he cringed at the idea that anyone was to see the scroll. It seemed dirty still, the whole idea of the club, the whole idea of needing something to _fix_ him and his errant magic.

“Are you going to go?”

“I dunno,” Draco shook his head. “It’s all a bit crass.”

“Hey!”

“You’re a pureblood. A Parkinson. And you more than casually visit a sex dungeon.” He didn't want to sound judgemental, but he was having trouble wrapping his head around the whole thing. Taking control, giving control, possibly having sex, it was all too confusing. Draco lived in a world of certainty. The exact ingredients, the perfect temperature, always lead to the same results. No power play, only facts.

Luckily, Pansy didn’t seem offended. “My _pure blood_ , as you like to describe it, has only brought me pain. Suffering, stress and guilt. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the crippling pressure that being in our families brings us? My mother expected me to be beautiful, thin, perfect. Marry rich, whether I was in love or not. That’s what I was reduced to, a size and a proposal.

“When I came out, she asked me to do what every other Parkinson before me had done; keep my bitch out of my marital bed. She still expected me to marry, to breed, to produce more purebloods, to deny my truth.”

Draco wanted to reach out, hug his friend and hold her tight and tell her that it was all going to be okay. But it wasn’t. Her parents barely spoke to her, in the same clipped tones his own parents used. He didn’t know how to comfort her, in the same way he didn’t know how to comfort himself. Instead, he usually lashed out, panicking, letting his magic running rampant out his veins.

Pansy wiped a tear away from her eye and took a deep breath. “When we’re at the club though, when I’m with Ginny, she takes all that pressure from me. She takes it off my shoulders. All of it.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s like a weight, resting right between my shoulder-blades. And, when we play, Ginny lifts it. I...can’t describe it any other way. I can only focus on her, not on all the other distractions.” She smiled, her eyes drifting off to that blank space on the wall again. “It’s freeing.”

Free. 

That was a concept he was unfamiliar with.

“I - I think I better head out, Pans.” Draco muttered, climbing out of the comfy couch. “Things to do.”

“Clubs to attend?” Pansy raised her eyebrows.

Draco coughed awkwardly.

“Send Neville my love, will you?” She said with a smile, before Draco drifted through the Floo and back to his own flat. 

\----

If you had asked Draco that morning if he’d be visiting that lamppost again, with confidence he would have spat a hearty ‘No’.

And yet, he found himself, trembling hands, whispering _Kismet_ to a dirty post in the middle of Diagon Alley. When he walked through reception, the same kind wixen directed him ‘down the hall, first door on the left, love’.”

He knew he’d see Longbottom, his calming smile and his strong exterior, but who he wasn’t ready to see was- 

“Potter?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville starts teaching, and he's got a special guest to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres a bit of daddy kink here (Nev/Theo)

Draco blinked, thinking the dim lights in the dungeon were playing tricks on him. No way was Scarhead in a seedy club. He was a fucking Auror, Head Auror at that. Surely _Sugarquill_ was literally underground because it wasn’t the most legal establishment. And yet -

“Malfoy?” Potter sputtered. “Neville, you didn’t say anything about—”

“Great to see you!” Longbottom clapped and walked over to Draco, “I’m so glad you made it!” He pulled Draco’s hand into his own, rough and calloused from days spent in the dirt.

 _Or nights working with a crop,_ Draco reminded himself. He was still having a bit of trouble wrapping his head around cardigan-wearing, plant loving Neville Longbottom in leather chaps.

Maybe he’d soon find out what that looked like.

But there were more pressing issues at hand.

Like what the fuck precious, perfect Potter was doing in a kink establishment. 

“Great! Now that we’re all here, we can get started.” Neville clapped his hands again. 

It was then that Draco realised the room was not just filled with Potter. There were three other people gathered in an awkward semi-circle around Longbottom. He didn’t know the other gentleman - he was older, with bits of grey sprinkled into his dark beard - but Draco vaguely recognized one of the women to his left. Abbott, he thought, although he couldn’t quite place her first name. Anna or Helen or something like that. He had no idea who the last student was, nor did he care, because he definitely recognized the new person that just walked in.

“Oh, perfect timing, love.” Neville grinned widely. “Everyone, this is my partner, Theodore Nott. He’s going to be helping me with today’s lesson.”

Theo was one of the few Slytherins Draco thought he’d keep in touch with. They gave it a real shot for a bit, meeting at taverns and the occasional party they would be dragged to attend. However, when Draco began his apprenticeship, they lost touch. His time was stretched thin between classes and practicums and required dinners with his parents that Draco just hadn’t had time for much else. Perhaps that was how he also missed Pansy’s breakdown. He really needed to thank Ginny one day for helping her through that.

He’d worry about that tomorrow, drawing his attention instead to his old friend, who was currently nestled on the floor, knees pressed into the tips of Longbottom’s sturdy black boots. His chest was bare, his breathing ragged and his head bowed, his hands already clasped tight behind his back.

“Nervous, baby boy?” Longbottom asked, peering down at the man at his feet. 

“Yes, Sir,” Theo answered automatically. Neville let out a little groan at that, his smile broad and confident as it stretched across his face.

“But you know that I’m here to take care of you.” 

Theo nodded, his head still hooked to the floor.

“Words, bear,” Neville said, and Draco heard the difference; Neville was commanding him, his voice stern and direct as it filled the room.

Draco watched in awe as Theo visibly shuddered, eyes focused laser-sharp on the floor, a smile curling his lips.

“Yes, Sir,” he responded after a beat, and Draco couldn’t help but draw in a breath. Seeing the reaction, hearing the tone, how different it sounded from the Theo he’d seen so many years ago. This Theo, even though he was grovelling on the floor, sounded stronger. He sounded _happy._ At the feet of a Gryffindor, no less.

“Good boy,” Neville said, and Draco watched with anticipation as once again Theo shuddered at those words. “Now, Theo is my Submissive. He is also my boyfriend, my partner, and has graciously volunteered to show the class how good of a Submissive he can be.”

Instead of nodding again in agreement, Theo remained still, his eyes never leaving the concrete.

“So,” Neville continued, “there are three types of play we’re going to discuss in a power exchange like a Dominant to a Submissive.” He motioned toward Theo. “The first, being demonstrated here, is a glance at preference training.” Neville paused, licked his lips, and commanded. “Position two, please.”

Theo nodded once, and then sat back on his heels, his hands unclasping behind his back until his palms rested flat on his thighs. His stare remained focused on the floor throughout, and Draco cocked his head, wondering if that was a requirement of a Submissive.

“Now, these positions vary from Dom to Dom. My _preference_ is that Theodore keeps his eyes trained to the floor. This helps in twofold. The first is that he is more focused on my commands, therefore falling a bit easier into his role during play. The second is that his eyes are too captivating for me to stare at for too long, and keep my composure. You have the most gorgeous eyes, don’t you, love?”

“Yes, Daddy,”

 _Daddy._ Well, that was something he was absolutely positive he’d never heard Theo say, especially out loud. They both referred to their parents as _father_ , properly. Never dad, and certainly not daddy. Yet, when he uttered the word, instead of tightening as Draco surely would have done, Theo seemed to relax further into the floor, his fingers splayed across his skin in an easy fashion. 

“And there’s another preference,” Neville chuckled. “I’ve instructed Theo to call me _Sir,_ instead of Master or Neville, and he confessed his urge to call me Daddy quickly into our relationship. So we added it to the list of preferred pronouns.” Neville looked down and ruffled a hand through Theo’s dark hair, tugging slightly on the ends when he released the strands. 

“Now, every Dom is different. Some might want their Subs to stand, others might want a combination where they knot their wrists above their head. Whatever it is, basic positions can be varied and helpful.”

“Why are they helpful?” the girl in the middle asked, her voice high-pitched and a bit jarring on Draco’s ears.

“Great question, Melody. And, class, feel free to ask questions as we go,” Neville nodded towards the girl and gave her a warm smile. “Positions, names, collars or even wardrobe can be important to set the scene. Not everyone wants to be a Submissive at all times. So getting into the mindset can be imperative. Simple commands that are practiced and structured can provide an easy path toward entering the right headspace.”

Neville nodded at Theo. “My teddy bear here can find structure in knowing his place. It is on his knees, waiting for his next instruction. This allows him to relax, to let go, to focus on me as opposed to what could be happening outside that door, out in the real world.

“Training your Submissive can be a play in itself.” Neville added. “Just make sure that you’re clear with your objectives. Otherwise, you could end up having to inflict a punishment where you may or may not have wanted to.”

“You mean a good wallop?” the older man interjected with a laugh. Draco’s mind wandered to earlier, when Pansy suggested Ron could use a strong paddling.

“Possibly.” Neville shrugged with ease. “We’ll delve into the second form of play a bit later, how funishment and punishment work in this type of relationship.

“Which leads us into the final element of power play. I will admit, this is going to be a large focus of our sessions here.”

Neville looked down at Theo, before placing his hand on his shoulder. He gave his boy a squeeze, rubbing into his shoulders with the tips of his fingers. “Do you mind if I tell our new friends a bit about your past, baby boy?”

Even though he was still positioned, his back straight and his arse resting on his heels, Draco could see the slightest tilt of Theo’s body as he leaned into Neville’s touch.

“No, Sir.” Theo let out, more breathy than Draco was expecting. 

“Thank you.” Neville squeezed his shoulder one more time, and then relocated his hand to the base of Theo’s neck. Draco watched as he rubbed tiny circles into his nape as he continued to address the room. 

“The third practice is all about insight. Knowing your partner in play. Where they come from, what they want to achieve.

“For instance, Theo here wants to be good.” Neville leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of Theo’s head, his hand still rubbing into his skin. “His father was not a good man, and his mother died too young to truly look after him.”

Draco knew his story already, of course. Theo’s father gave his own a run for his Galleons. He’d find Mr. Nott in the study with his own Aunt Bellatrix, plotting and targeting their efforts on pleasing the Dark Lord. They didn’t go as far as actually housing the no-nose git, for Mr. Nott was thrown in Azkaban during their Fifth year, but he probably would have volunteered right along with Lucius. _Idiots_ , the lot of them _._

Theo had collected some smarts from his lineage, however, and last Draco heard he was offering his services to the remaining twin Weasel and that silly joke shop. He’d been meaning to go in and see if he could find his old friend along with the Puking Pastilles, but after work at S&Js he generally wanted to head home. Or, he supposed, to a magical sex dungeon.

“Knowing my Theo Bear’s background allows me to understand him better,” Neville continued, giving Theo’s shoulder another squeeze. “For instance, I do not punish my boy in the traditional BDSM sense. Instead, we talk about his naughty behaviour, which leads to better communication between the two of us.”

Understanding intentions and motivation was something Draco knew he was skilled at. As a Slytherin, he knew how to be cunning, how to poke, and prod, and manipulate someone's weakness to get what he wanted. 

“Communication is important, of course, but having some insight into both your partner and yourself will help make your play even more impactful.” Neville glanced across the five students crowded around him. “Let’s try an example, shall we? Consider it a warm up.”


	7. Chapter 7

Draco felt his body tense. He had taken a chance on this whole thing, thinking that some semblance of this would somehow help his outbursts, but Draco wasn’t sure he was ready for an example. Especially considering the submissive was in fact his childhood friend. 

“If I want to comfort my bear here, knowing how much he’s eager to please, I might say something like ‘My darling bear, you’ve been such a good boy’.” Neville paused, and gave Theo a quick kiss on his cheek after his praise. “Most submissives will crave this type of compliment in some form or another, so let’s delve into that for a moment, shall we?”

Neville moved one hand back to Theo’s shoulders, the other one resting securely on his belt as he surveyed the room.

“Harry,” Neville called out suddenly. Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Now Potter on his knees was something he was eager to imagine. He could feel his cock fattening with even the thought of it. 

“Neville,” Potter answered gruffly.

“Now, now, no need to cringe. I told you I’d be calling you out, and I know you can handle this.” Neville smiled softly, his eyes locked on Potter while his hand shifted to grip Theo’s neck. “Keep in mind, class, this is a safe space. I don’t need to remind you that what we discuss here doesn’t leave the club unless both parties consent.”

Potter coughed awkwardly while the rest of the class nodded. 

“Great.” Neville gestured encouragingly. “So, Harry, what would you say to praise your Submissive?”

“I dunno.” Potter shrugged, his cheeks darkening into a deep garnet. “Something like...I want to fuck you so hard.”

The laugh erupted from Draco’s throat before he could stop it. 

He could feel the class turn on him, all eyes focused like he had just been scratched by a Hippogriff. Ignoring Longbottom’s death glare, Draco sneered towards the other end of the line.

“Really, Potter? That’s the best you can do?”

“Oh, like you’ve got anything better, Malfoy,” Potter snapped, his green eyes piercing into Draco’s own. 

A challenge. Draco rolled back his shoulders and walked steadily across the room, passing Abbott, and annoying Melody, and the other guy until he stood directly in front of the Chosen One himself.

“I do actually,” he started, cocking his head slightly to the left. He was surprised no one had stopped him yet, especially Longbottom who was surely brooding right over his shoulder.

Instead, he pressed his chest into Potter’s own. He knew Potter wouldn’t move, wouldn’t back down from a threat, not when it was Draco Malfoy trying to force him into a corner. He wasn’t scared, no. Potter was never scared. 

Draco stared into green, letting his mind fill with the memory of the last time he saw those eyes, fluttering with pleasure in the back of a darkened alley, desperate and longing and raw.

“Prim, proper little Potter,” Draco started with a bite, still surprised that no one had stopped him, especially their cardigan-loving instructor. “The whole world thinks they know you, don’t they? Perfect Potter and his perfect scar.” Draco paused, and on instinct, lifted his thumb to rub along the raised skin on Potter’s forehead. 

It felt softer than he had expected. The skin surrounding the lightning bolt felt so soft instead of calloused, like the edges of his own scars inflicted by Sectumsempra. It made something in him snap; a bitterness that he hadn’t expected, knowing that Potter’s branding was even better than Draco’s own. 

“They don’t know you, do they? That their perfect little saviour is a slut for dirty cock.”

He heard a gasp from his left, Melody or Abbott, he wasn’t sure. Either way, no one was stopping him. Not now.

“What would the Wizarding World think if they knew, hmm Potter? That you were filthy, spending your nights in a kinky, kinky club.” He stared into the soft glint of Potter’s eyes, noting the same far-away expression he had seen in Pansy just that afternoon. 

Draco decided to take a chance. “If they all knew how eager you were to get on your knees.”

He felt the hitch of Potter’s breath before he even felt the puff of hot air across his cheek. Draco grinned, viciously, knowing he’d won. Feeling a way he hadn’t in quite some time. 

His cock was hard. He knew it, just as easily as he knew Potter was hard, breathing hard as well, even as he continued to stand stock still in Draco’s snarl. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want this feeling to go away. He heard Longbottom’s growl over his shoulder, a warning surely, but he wouldn’t quit.

“I bet your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around my cock, Potter,” Draco continued, ignoring Neville’s now audible warnings from across the room. “You talk all day, but you never get to use that throat of yours, do you? Every word you say is for them, but every noise you make is for me, isn’t it?”

He thought he saw the slightest tilt, the almost nod of Potter’s head, his hair frazzled as if he had already been fucked, as if it had already been gripped and twisted and _tugged_. It made something in Draco pulse with need, the urge to push Potter to the ground throbbing beneath his skin. 

“Your throat is so warm, and _wet_ , as wet as you were the first time I noticed you. When you breached the black lake during the second task. Gasping for air and so fucking triumphant. I couldn’t stop staring at you, Potter.”

“Draco,” a voice called in warning from behind him, clipped and short. He immediately ignored it. He wouldn’t let go of this power, this control, not of his own volition. He continued.

“Your fucking gorgeous chest,” Draco murmured as he let his hands grip the sides of Potter, the sharp angles right above his trousers. His shirt was made of cotton, and Draco relished the texture, softness against the heat radiating beneath the thin cloth. Potter just stared back, hands at his sides, his breath uneven, his eyes glassy, licking his lips uncontrollably.

“I’d feed you my cock, Potter, until you wouldn’t even be able to make any noise, until the only thing you could do was grunt, or pant, or gag, and you’d love it, wouldn’t you? You’d love to swallow my cock like it was sweet Treacle Tart, like it was the best thing you’d ever had pulsing down your throat.”

“Petrificus,” Neville yells, his voice bounding around the room. The safe word instantly made the walls glow red, and Draco blinked rapidly into the light. 

“That’s it. Class is over.” Neville closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Draco, my office. Harry, please sit down and wait for me. As for the rest of you, class is dismissed. I’ll owl you with your individual schedules tomorrow.”

Draco narrowed his eyes once more at Potter, before lifting his chin and marching out the door. 

“What the fuck was that?” Neville gasped as soon as he led Draco into his office. He slammed the door the second Draco stepped over the threshold, blocking out the bland hallway and locking them into the cedar-walled room.

“You tell me, teach,” Draco snarled. His hands were shaking, and his cock was hard, harder than it had been in his previous memories. Harder than he thought he had ever been in his entire life.

He felt _charged_. Like he was buzzing. It was similar and yet so different to how it was when his magic spilled wild, when he broke the china, or ruined the furniture. Instead, it was as if he buzzed under his skin, contained, controlled.

It felt like the first time he held a wand, his wand. 

But that feeling was dissipating fast, too fast. Every rise and fall of his chest seemed to release that feeling, and Draco wished he could hold his breath, hold it in forever. 

He had no choice but to exhale harshly when Neville grabbed his wrist, holding it upward, his thumb pressed tightly to the base.

“Your magic is pulsing faster than your heart, Draco.”

“Yes,” was all Draco could muster, his eyes cast downward to avoid Neville’s angry glare.

“And yet my desk is still intact. As is the glass in my picture frames.”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you know why I stopped you?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Draco. Why did I safeword in there?”

“Because I was being disruptive.”

Neville shook his head. “That’s true, but you were also sending Harry into subspace in the middle of a crowded classroom.”

“Sub what?” 

“Frankly, I’m a bit impressed. I wasn’t sure Harry was capable of letting himself fall, but it seems you don’t give him much of a choice.”

“I don’t - “

“Class tomorrow, same time. You can make it, yes?”

“I’m not - “

“Great,” Neville nodded with confidence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to Harry for a bit. See you tomorrow.”

Draco couldn’t say much else before Neville was shoving him out the door, emptying him once again into the bland hallway. The door disappeared in a blink, and in another moment Neville was gone as well, turning in a flourish and heading back down to the training classroom. 

“Tomorrow,” Draco nodded into the empty hallway before turning on his heels and walking back into the dark London air.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors notes: We really delve into Draco's anxiety in this chapter. Advanced warning of a pretty bad anxiety attack, so please only read if you're in the right headspace. It gets better by the end, because Neville is...Neville.
> 
> Honestly, I thought about not posting today. There's just so much going on around the world that an emotional chapter like this just didn't seem helpful. But I reread it, and reminded myself of the tools Neville teaches Draco, and thought maybe someone else could use that reminder this week.
> 
> If you don't want to read it, I totally understand. It's 100% okay to skip it, you will not miss any of the plot going forward. Take care of yourself first and foremost.

The second Draco entered his flat, he withdrew his needy cock from his trousers. He’d barely shut the door for Merlin’s sake, before he was tugging, twisting and spilling his seed over his palm. 

Draco leaned against the closed mahogany, allowing gravity to drag him to the floor, panting and shaking, his trousers still caught around his hips. He sat there, in his hallway, shaking in the aftermath of his powerful orgasm. 

Yes. The usual tightness in his chest had unwound, leaving Draco feeling like a Third Year again., Back then, the biggest things he had to worry about were fighting a Hippogriff and knotting his tie properly. 

He felt free.

With that wave of joy, Draco stumbled into the bedroom, falling instantly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

\---

It happened again the next morning. 

In the previous night’s pleasure, Draco had forgotten to set a Tempus and woke up only ten minutes before he needed to Apparate to work. With no time to shower, he tugged his dirty robes around his body, did a quick spell on his hair and rushed off to Slug & Jiggers.

Draco hated being late; it was one of the most disrespectful things that one could do, especially to their boss and place of employment. But being three minutes tardy was nowhere near the worst thing that happened to him. 

When he finally got to work and approached his potions, he found that the stirring spell, he was confident he’d cast, had stopped working. The black potion had burned a hole through his two-inch thick cauldron, and was currently eating through the stained wood floors. With an angry flick of his wrist, Draco Vanished the potion and two wasted weeks. He’d have to start over, and while this wasn’t the first mistake an Apprentice had ever made, the replacement ingredients were bound to be expensive when ordered on rush. S&Js would be at least a week behind on replacement serum.

What really toppled the scales, though, was when he burned the edges of his turkey on rye with an easy reheating charm he’d performed at least a thousand times. Chucking his sandwich in the bin, Draco could feel himself start to unravel. 

He ran out of the shop, ignoring the calls from his boss as he fled. His feet carried him on their own intuition, until Draco was panting, out of breath and gripping onto a lamppost. 

The very same lamppost he had whispered to last night.

Once again, he found himself tucking his head between his legs, heaving in air like he would never catch his breath. His robes felt tight, circling his throat like a noose, his anxiety attack choking him from the inside out.

“I want you to focus on my voice,” he heard in between his gasps. “I’m also tapping my foot, can you hear it?”

Draco closed his eyes, letting Longbottom’s voice fill his ears. Of course the git would follow him here; he had probably run right past his shop during his blind escape. 

“Draco, do you hear my foot? Tap, tap, tap, tap.”

He could hear it; a boot pressing down over and over in quick syncopation, tap, tap as it hit the pavement. His voice wasn’t cooperating, his breath still too ragged., So instead, Draco nodded — a small movement of his head.

“Good. Now, I want you to breathe in. Focus on a smell, any smell.”

Draco squinted, forcing himself to breathe through his nose instead of gasping through his mouth. He could smell something, earthy, pine. It had to be Neville, his boots or robes or his hands covered in dirt until it clung to the beds of his fingernails. It reminded him of Quidditch pitches, of early morning runs and late night sprints, of Hogwarts and brooms. 

He could feel his chest loosening, breath coming easier as he inhaled.

“You’re doing great, Draco. Now, I want you to hold onto something. The sleeve of your robe, your wand, whatever. Focus,” Neville said calmingly, “focus on the texture. How does it feel beneath your fingertips?”

Draco didn’t reach for his wand. His magic was betraying him now, had betrayed him in the past. Instead, he reached for his throat, for the Malfoy crest that was emblazoned on each of his gold buttons. Undoing the brass cinching his throat, Draco was able to breathe, his fingers pressing tightly around the cold metal. 

He focused on that, the continuous tapping, the solid baritone of Neville’s voice, the button between his fingers. Every breath left him smelling trees, grass and warm sunlight, and soon, he could feel his chest unclench. With a final big inhale, Draco opened his eyes, straightened his spine and looked at the warm brown eyes of Neville Longbottom.

“I’m fine, I just—”

“No need to explain, Draco. I’m actually glad I ran into you.”

“More like I ran into you.”

Neville chuckled. “What I mean to say is, as crappy as that attack was, I’m glad I got to see it. Gives me some insight on what we’re dealing with.”

“And what is that?” Draco tried to resist the urge to snap, but some behaviours were so ingrained in him, he found them difficult to ignore.

“Your triggers.” Neville pulled his wand out of his back pocket, thrumming it on his open palm. “If I had to guess, that wave of magic that cracked three of my pots was from you.”

“Three?” 

“Nothing a quick Reparo couldn’t fix,” Neville replied. “But it felt like you. Like your magic is out of control.” He clasped the black wand in his hand before continuing. “But it wasn’t last night.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You took control last night. And tonight, I’ll show you how to do it again, alright?” 

Draco closed his eyes again. He had felt so much better not even twenty-four hours ago. How quickly it had disappeared. 

He felt himself nod in response to Neville’s question, and exhaled through his nose.

“When you’re not at the club, and you feel that tightness, that out-of-controlness coming about, I want you to remember 3-2-1.”

“Counting’s never helped me before.” Merlin, Neville was only trying to help, and he couldn’t stop being a dick. 

“Not counting.” Neville’s voice remained steady and calm as he continued. “Three things you can hear, like my voice and my boots. Then two things you can smell, and one thing you can touch.”

Like the dirt, like the buttons on his robes. Three, two, one.

“You’re doing great, Draco. We’ll figure this all out, okay?” 

Draco sniffled, and attempted a cough to cover it up. He wouldn’t cry in front of a Gryffindor, no matter how harrowing he felt.

“Can you head back to work?”

“I need to.”

“But do you feel up to it?”

No. But he also couldn’t just leave it, not if he expected to have a job another day.

“Yes,” he lied. 

“Okay.” Neville looked at him skeptically. “Want me to come with you?”

“I can handle my boss myself, Longbottom.”

Neville nodded in response. “See you tonight then.”

“Tonight.” Draco turned to head back, and paused. “Thanks, Longbottom,” he said, over his shoulder. 

“Anytime, Draco.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter. Draco appreciated it as well.

Draco returned to the shop as quickly as he could, dreading the discussion he would surely have with his director. Not only had he ruined an entire batch of serum, he had also run out in the middle of his workday with his entire burnt sandwich tossed in the bin. 

His boss, normally surly and a bit intimidating, was surprisingly very understanding with Draco’s sudden disappearance. “We were just worried,” he said, looking curiously at Draco over half-moon spectacles. “Didn’t seem like you to run off, but when I saw the cauldron,” he paused once more and took a soft breath, “we’ve all been there before.”

Draco exhaled, and offered his most heartfelt apologies. It wasn’t in his nature to admit fault, but the sense of relief overcame him. and he let it out before he could even consider biting it back.

“Things happen, Draco. We’ve all mis-spliced, or mixed too hard. Part of learning.” His boss looked to his notebook laid out on the table. “The new potions should be here in a few days, but in the meantime, I’d love for you to take a crack at this one.” He slid a piece of parchment with complicated instructions over to Draco.

Draco studied the intricate measurements and ingredients for a moment. “You trust me with this?” he said, more to himself than to his employer. He hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud until his boss answered.

“Of course. It’s one of our best-sellers and if you’re going to be joining us next year, you’ll need to perfect it.” 

Draco thanked the gods in the stars that his boss didn’t look up from his notes to see what was surely an embarrassingly large grin stretched across his face. He nodded, then added a verbal, “Will get started right away!” before whisking himself back to his cauldrons and potion knife. 

He spent the day sorting out ingredients, and when the Tempus chimed six he was a bit surprised it was already so late in the day. Draco situated his ingredients under a Stasis, checking three times to make sure he had placed it properly and his charmwork wouldn’t fail like it had before. Then he headed out the door.

But he didn’t want to head home. He was buzzing, excited and happy and wanted to talk to someone about his day. He knew Pansy was with Ginny, another night at the Burrow surrounded by family, and while he knew she would want to share in his enthusiasm, he didn’t want to interrupt. 

Instead, Draco headed to  _ Alice’s _ . He found Neville on his knees, a tiny bud in one hand and a spade in the other. Draco watched from the threshold as Neville tenderly placed the little flower into a clay pot, pressing the soft dirt around the edges before returning it to the shelf. 

“What’s that one do?” Draco asked curiously, eyeing the beautiful purple bell-shaped flower.

“It looks pretty.” Neville paused, spritzing the flower with a gust of water from his wand. “Some things are there just to make us happy.”

“That’s a bit useless.”

Neville turned, setting the flower down on the floor in front of him. “Nothing’s useless, Draco. Not if it’s intentional.”

He stroked the tiny purple buds, and they flourished under his touch, growing and turning into almost a shade of mauve wherever his finger impressed upon its petals. 

“Each and every one of us is like a flower, Draco.” Neville spoke from his place on the floor, as he grabbed another pot from the shelf. “Take Pansy, for instance. Her namesake, the pansy, would lead us to believe she is cheerful and basic, but in fact she is a secret. More like a rose acacia. Most might see her as a weed, a threat, but when she’s nurtured, she can fully bloom.”

Draco thought about Pansy, how on the outside she could seem cold, distant. Like she was all shell, the heart hiding beneath. How, over the past few days, he had learned about his closest and oldest friend’s struggle with her mental health. How she had hidden it even from her best friend. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed, hadn’t been paying enough attention. Hadn’t nurtured her.

“Ginny is clearly a peony. The way she carries herself—, resilient, but also cautious. A fire brewing in her belly. She’s ambitious, but she’s also careful. And when the heat finally lets loose, all bets are off.”

The face of the girl Weasel popped into his head. Peonies looked so delicate, so different from the Ginny he’d come to know, but she was feisty, and fiery, and fiercely protective of her family, her friends, her lover, Pansy. It didn’t match in his head,  but Draco could easily see the resilience the plant had.

“You, on the other hand, are very much like a snapdragon.”

Draco jerked his head towards Longbottom as Neville picked another pot off the ground. The plant growing in it stood tall, budding pink flowers crawling up it’s stalk.

“At first it appears beautiful, strong and confident.” Neville stroked the tip of the seedling’s buds gingerly. “Underneath, however, it’s concealing something. A truth. A desire.” He stared pointedly at Draco until he stood, placing the plant on a higher shelf. 

He considered the flower for a moment. Draco was raised to protect himself, to wear a mask. He thought he had worn it so well, but over the past few days he had felt the crack, the glue stretching as his world opened up. Could it be that his desires lay within those chips and gaps? 

Before he could delve into that thought, Neville gestured towards the creeping vine escaping out his back window. 

“Some plants need to be left alone.” He said, with a smile. “They need space to breathe, to explore. It takes them a long time to establish their roots, but once they take hold, they’re moored.” 

He then took a plant off the shelf, its branches overflowing. He whisked his wand in an arc, pruning it into a simple oval shape. “Others require the boundaries. They yearn for it, reach for it. They cling to it.”

He tucked his wand back into his pocket and then pulled another pot off his shelf. This one held a single daisy, the brightest yellow Draco had ever seen. It reminded him of springtime at the Manor, the sun warming his skin as he wandered through the gardens and fed the peacocks.

“Some need to be coaxed, need to be watched and tended and loved in order to grow.” Neville said, more to the beautiful flower than to Draco himself. “It’s my job,  _ our _ job, to discover what makes something, someone grow.”

Draco nodded. He was starting to understand. Ingredients didn’t just come in plastic packages like he was used to at S&Js. They were grown somewhere, pulled from stalks, from creatures and the earth itself. Nothing was just made. It was cultivated.

“Coming to the club, yes?” Neville asked as he pierced a bag of mulch with his shovel and started divvying it between a row of plants. “I have a few things I want to show you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Draco responded. And he meant it.

\---

He went home, and changed out of his robes. He wouldn’t admit to it out loud, but Draco knew he was spending more than his usual allotted grooming time doing what one could only consider ‘primping’. He showered, using all the potions he could utilise, before standing in front of his fog-cloaked mirror, using drying charms and styling spells until his hair lay flat, only the tiniest of curls at his neck. He tugged on his dark green jumper over a pair of dark denim jeans, bringing the whole thing together with black loafers, shined so brightly he could practically see his reflection in them.

Not that he was going anywhere special; just to the club, to Longbottom and the rest of his classmates. Potter included, of course, but none of this was for him. He just felt more confident when he looked his best. 

Finally, he ventured to the club at quarter to nine. Didn’t want to be late, that was all. The walk was familiar now, after his visits, and his unconscious run to the very lamppost that was guarding the entrance. He padded down the steps, the usual nervousness settling into his stomach. This time, however, it wasn’t as strong, less palpable in Draco’s fingers as he turned the final knob and entered the club.

The wixen at the front nodded at him as they would an old friend. He nodded in reply, before venturing down the hallway to the same training room they were in the night before. 

Draco didn’t hesitate opening the door, knowing what he would expect inside.

At least he thought. 

Four sets of eyes stared back at him as soon as he entered.

“Great! Class is all here!” Longbottom grinned widely at Draco walking through the door.

“All here?” Draco said abruptly. He saw Abbott, her hair up in a bun, and the older man with his beard in a grey curl around his chin. His eyes scanned the room, searching for the rest of the group, searching for-

“Yes!” Neville exclaimed. “Melody has decided to drop out, I have to admit, but I do think that’s for the best. And-”

“Potter.” Draco said, more question than statement. He wished he could bite back the word, so bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t. “Where the fuck is Potter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read another Drarry with Nev giving out Plant Advice? Might I recommend [Kiss Quick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671193/chapters/39092458)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a breakdown, and a break-through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So this chapter is v. dark and can be quite triggering. Please protect yourself first and foremost. I'm going to put the triggers in the end notes so you don't have to read if you don't want to. The next chap will have a brief summary of this one, so if you don't want to read it, I'll catch you up next time so you can keep reading along!
> 
> EVERYTHING GETS MORE FUN AFTER THIS I PROMISE, but sometimes we need these downs to build ourselves back up!

“Potter?” Neville said, like he’d never heard the surname before. “You mean, Harry?”

“Of course I mean Harry, you toad-carrying oaf!” Draco snarled. “He was in our class just last night. What the fuck happened to him? Did he drop out?”

“We can discuss this later,” Neville said sternly, raising an eyebrow in Draco’s direction.

“We can discuss this now,” Draco snarled, clenching his fists at his sides. 

Neville looked at him, wide-eyed, and then looked down at his grip. “Very well, Draco,” he answered slowly. “Potter has chosen to move to a different class time.”

“Because?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Because that is his choice, Malfoy.”

It was the first time through this whole process Neville had addressed him by that name, his family name. At that moment, he hated it; hated the awful way it had rolled off his tongue, as if this behaviour had been expected from him all this time. As if he was back in Second Year, buying his way onto the team and into a group of friends that didn’t want him without his vault. 

Draco was pissed; both from being chastised in front of a Hufflepuff, and because brave Gryffindor Potter hadn’t been brave after all. A coward, all after one class, after one line of insults from his former foe. 

He pursed his lips, stopping himself short from turning on Longbottom and spewing the usual insults that sat heavy on his tongue. How Longbottom was nothing, barely able to cast a spell, clinging to a Remembrall in First Year, and not able to sit on a broom without crying.

That wasn’t him anymore though. He had tried so hard to put his past behind him, and he wasn’t going to let it all go in one night in a seedy club. Not when Neville had been so nice and encouraging and  _ helpful _ just that afternoon. When he had so much he wanted to learn, when he felt like he was on the crux of something truly great. 

So instead, he swallowed and let the hatred cool beneath his skin. He dutifully joined the line of students and stared at his teacher until Neville nodded in response to his actions. He sent Draco a quick half-smile before he addressed the class again. 

“As I was saying, the group is a little smaller tonight. I’m happy you all have returned as we’re delving into one of the cornerstones of a BDSM relationship.” Neville paused, before pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. Draco wondered what kind of magic he was utilising, how many toys and tools could be shoved into his trousers at any given moment. 

“Bondage and Discipline — the BD of a BDSM relationship. Now, bondage can vary from handcuffs to rope, to anything that forces your partner not to move and surrender to your control.” 

Neville dug into his back pocket again, the handcuffs disappearing, being instantly replaced by a thick black whip with long leather falls. “Discipline, on the other hand, is more psychological, and should fit the crime. If your Submissive, for instance, gives you a dirty look, you might want them to stand in a corner and think about what they’ve done.” Neville stared pointedly at Draco for a moment, before cutting his eyes to the back wall. 

Draco blushed at the implication as anger settling low in his stomach. He was used to getting his way, using his domineering personality to achieve what he wanted. Used to throwing a fit and being rewarded, not punished.

“It’s important to discuss what rules you are looking to establish in your relationship. Some Dominants don’t mind a bit of sass from their Submissive. In fact, they might enjoy an easy banter. Others want their partners to not speak, not make eye contact, not ask for things. I’ve trained some that want permission to handle everyday tasks, like wearing a specific outfit, or styling their hair a certain way. Even brushing their teeth. Then others that simply want to utilise discipline as a way to escape, to feel validated or wanted.” Neville paused, and looked at the group again, his eyes distinctly missing Draco’s own steely stare. For some reason, Draco felt hurt by this, like he was still being chastened for his outburst earlier.

“This can be considered Funishment,” Neville continued, before pulling back the whip and crashing it to the concrete floor. “The act of punishing for one's own pleasure, as opposed to hurting them. Now tonight, we won’t be visited by my love, Theo. Instead, we’ll be utilising these magicked dummies.” He pulled his wand out of his pocket and twisted it with his palm. Three mannequins floated into the room, their faces blank, but their bodies structured. Two even had breasts, along with curved, thick backsides, and framed waists. 

“Dolls?” Abbot said next to him. “We’re practicing on dolls?”

Neville nodded. “Physical discipline is a distinct skill. It can be beneficial, yes, and erotic as hell. But it can also be dangerous. Hence the dolls.”

Draco stared at the blank forms, all a dusty grey, lank and loose. Nothing at all like the ginger stretched across the whipping bench from a few days before, pale and freckled, skin turning bright red on impact. He remembered the wailing, the crying, the tears, the countdown of pain before a glimpse of comfort. 

“Not every sub craves punishment, or pain as it were, as a form of pleasure,” Neville continued as he ran the thin leather strips of the whip through his fingers. “My Theo bear, for instance. The first time he disobeyed one of my commands, I dragged him across my lap, stripped off his knickers and beat him until his beautiful skin turned pink and hot and tender to my touch.”

Neville frowned. “For me, it was erotic. His cock was between my thighs, and his arse was ready for my palm. When he cried, I just assumed it was out of relief, the endorphins overwhelming him.” He closed his eyes, his frown turning even deeper. “And then he safeworded. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t hitting him that hard, or that he had earned a punishment. We stopped. And we talked.”

He opened his eyes once more, and stared at the class. “My bear doesn’t want punishment, or even funishment. He wants praise as a reward and communication if he does something wrong. The guilt and shame of him disappointing me is punishment enough.”

Taking a deep breath, Neville pushed a smile upon his face once more. “However, this is not the case for most Submissives. They crave the structure, the clear ramifications that they don’t get in the real world.”

“For them, discipline comes in the form of spanking, whipping, or even flogging or caning. It can be pleasurable, and it can be very, very painful. Again, it’s important to be clear about the goals, and make sure the punishment fits the crime.”

Draco had thought many times about this aspect of BDSM. Hitting, slapping, spanking. Physical pain that somehow led to intimate pleasure. What he still hadn’t grasped, was — “why?”

For the second time that day, Draco had said something unwillingly. It had just slipped out. The question, the truth of his curiosity, the fissure of his unknowingness. He could no longer hide his innocence about the whole thing; his urge for knowledge overpowered his inherent need to always be better, stronger, smarter.

“Why do we crave it?” Neville answered, confident and strong, not even a note of impatience in his voice. “You’ll find that pain and pleasure are on opposite sides of the same coin.”

Neville then turned, holding the whip towards one of the mannequin’s backs. With a flick of his wrist, the grey-ish skin highlighted in a myriad of colours. “Your submissive controls what they want, what they crave. It’s easy to use  pain, degradation, and humiliation as tools, but the how and when is fully dependent on the need, reaction and results that your Submissive craves.”

Draco stared at the different zones, green, yellow and red, once again wondering how hitting someone could bring pleasure and not pain. 

His father had hit his mother once. He had been young, so young at the time that he was supposed to be in bed, curled in thick woven sheets and cuddling his tiny stuffed dragon. A noise, in hindsight probably something louder than basic quarreling, had woken him out of his sleep, sending him tottering down the stairs. Just fast enough to see his father slap his mother clear across the face; just slow enough to not be able to stop it. 

“When spanking,” Neville’s voice cut through his horrid memories, “you must make sure to hit the safe zones only.” 

Draco tried to focus on the doll, the green glow highlighting their arse and upper thighs, completely missing their lower and upper back. Neville’s voice drifted into static as Draco focused entirely on the mannequin’s face, now a pure black, a ‘no-hit’ zone. 

He didn’t know that he could do any form of beating, no matter how much he could call it ‘funishment’. No matter how much his Submissive might crave it; no matter how much someone might need it. 

How could he hit someone? He had fought so hard not to be  _ that monster _ anymore. Could he really do anything that would lead him down that path, his father’s path, again?

\-------------------

Draco didn’t remember much of the remainder of the lesson. He knew he had held the whip, pressed into his palm by his teacher. He knew that he had swung, snapped the fall across the green zones over and over again, until he hit the green almost every time. He knew that Longbottom had praised him, had told him how his accuracy, his grip, was all perfect.

Normally, praise from a professor would have made Draco feel proud. Instead, he felt numb, isolated and confused. Was this really what he craved? What being in control felt like? What he truly needed?

Neville kept him back after class. “Draco,” he said patiently, “you seem distracted.”

“‘M fine,” Draco muttered. “Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry,” was Neville’s simple reply. “Not just as your teacher.”

“You’re not my Dom, Longbottom.”

“I was going to say ‘as your friend’.” Neville smiled softly. “Want to talk?”

“Got anymore of that Veritaserum?”

Neville paused, before eyeing Draco up and down. “Do you need it to talk to me?”

Draco thought about it for a moment. How he could feel the mask, just slightly tilted, cracked, but not broken. “It would be easier.”

“Easier isn’t always better,” Neville answered. “Some things in life are hard.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Draco didn’t say it in a snap, like he normally would have. Instead, he said it calmly, quietly. “My father, my mother even. Everything in my life has been hard.” He gasped, feeling his throat constricting. “Lonely and hard.”

Instead of pushing him to speak more, Neville drew Draco into a hug. Strong arms wrapped around his back as Neville tucked Draco’s spray of hair under his chin. “You don’t have to be alone, Draco,” Neville murmured. “You’re safe. I’m here for you.”

It was a weird feeling, to be comforted by a Gryffindor for the second time that day. He let himself fall into the hug, into the safety of Neville’s arms, and without removing himself from their confines, Draco began to speak.

“When I was in school, I claimed my power. I was a Malfoy, you know?” He paused, but Neville stayed silent. “I felt like it was my place, head of the class, bullying anyone who looked at me.”

Neville gripped him tighter, holding him close to his chest, but he didn’t speak. He let Draco continue with his confession.

“But that’s not who I am.” Draco took a deep breath. “I was so scared, and I tried to hide it for so long, that even if I had told someone, they wouldn’t have believed me.”

His eyes suddenly felt so heavy, so he closed them, breathing in the scent of soil clinging to Neville’s jumper.

“I don’t want to be the villain in someone else’s story.” Draco continued, swallowing heavily. “Not again.” 

He felt the heave of Neville’s chest beneath his cheek, but still Neville didn’t speak. 

“If I hit someone, then I’m no better than my own father.”

With that confession, Draco felt the tears begin to flow down his cheeks, pooling wetly around his collarbones. He tried to withdraw, unravel himself, but Neville’s arms clung even stronger around his waist.

He couldn’t resist, the feeling so safe and warm, and finally, Draco let himself cry., Tthe final cracks in his mask opening up to the flood of emotions that made him feel clean. That made him feel whole.

\--

He woke up the next morning in a soft bed surrounded by pillows and thick woven blankets. It looked nothing like his own four-poster, and for a moment, Draco panicked, reaching desperately for his wand. 

When he reached out to the nightstand, however, his hand knocked into clay instead of Hawthorn. He looked blearily at the ficus stemming from the small pot, before the previous night’s events washed over him. 

Neville had taken him home. 

Looking under the sheets, Draco confirmed that, yes, he was wearing Neville’s pyjama bottoms, stitched with tiny bowtruckles, and sure enough the sheets were brown instead of his own silver. He sighed with relief, noting that he was situated in the middle of the mattress, with nary a Gryffindor in the room.

With that realisation, he heard a quick rap on his door. 

“Cuppa?” Neville asked, opening the door slightly to Draco’s response of ‘come in’.

Draco nodded, sitting up to cradle the hot cup of tea that Neville nestled into his hands. He took a calming sip as Neville situated himself on the edge of his bed. 

“Sleep well?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, taking another sip of the hot liquid.

“Feeling better?”

His eyes still felt heavy, but his chest felt looser, like a knot had been untangled. “I think so,” Draco answered. 

He wanted to avoid Neville’s judgemental stare, knowing that he should be embarrassed by his confessions the previous night, but a part of him also wanted to be strong. Today was the beginning of a new path. Confident, for knowing his truth, rather than just basking in his namesake’s abominable glow.

Finally, he forced himself to meet Neville’s eyes, and what he saw wasn’t judgement at all. Neville wasn’t staring at him with pity, but with worry. His gaze was soft, and kind, and as warm as the cup of tea cradled in Draco’s palms. 

“How about we do something different today, hmm?” Neville asked with a grin. “I was heading to a birthday party later. Could be fun?”

“Depends. Which of you lions are we celebrating?”

Neville chuckled. “Not a Gryffindor. Well, not yet at least. Won’t be sorted til September. And if you don’t get ready fast, we’re going to be late.”

\---

After a little prodding, Neville had finally told him the party was for Edward Lupin, but they all called him Teddy. 

Of course, Draco knew about Teddy. He would have been on the Black Family Tapestry etched into the wall at Malfoy Manor, had his Aunt Andromeda not been scorched off. 

That mural had always plagued Draco as a child. The constant reminder that one wrong move could have you expunged from the family. That with a quick Incendio, you could be forgotten.

He knew his own lifestyle choices would potentially lead to that. And that last week, the thought alone would have terrified him. But today felt different. He Flooed back to his own flat, stepped into the hot pummels of water in his shower, picked up his washcloth and began to scrub. Each stroke of the cloth felt like he was sluffing off the dead weight of his past, the expectations of his namesake and the pressure to constantly please. 

When he finally stepped out in a cloud of steam, he felt lighter. Better. Wiping the fog off of his mirror with the palm of his hand, Draco stared into his reflection.

At one point in his life, he had looked hard into the glass, unable to believe the hollowed man that stared back. Sixth year, before his chest was ripped apart and his blood seeped in runnels across the tiled floor, Draco had been staring at the monster he had become. The one who tried to kill his classmates, his Headmaster. 

As he studied his reflection now, he didn’t see that scared, haunted boy. Instead, he saw a man, who was strong, and kind, and understanding. He took a deep breath, and smiled at himself, feeling giddy when his reflection smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about this chapter: spanking is involved, also mentions of spousal physical abuse (slapping across ones face) and family abuse, Draco remembers some unpleasant family memories and has to recover from that. 
> 
> He does recover, and is much better at the end of the chapter. Neville helps.
> 
> Neville also reveals a moment where he was not a great Dom, so keep that in mind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Neville head to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the last chap, Neville taught a class and it brought up some not great feelings/memories for Draco. However, Neville being the excellent Dom/friend he is, took him home (as a friend!) and helped him process. Then he invited Draco to Teddy's birthday party. And here we are!

By the time they arrived, the party was in full swing. Despite the dark clouds gathering in the sky, Aunt Andromeda had chosen to host the party outside, clearly to accommodate the masses of witches and wizards that were in attendance. 

The grounds were decorated in a combination of Gryffindor red and gold side by side with Hufflepuff canary and black, punctuated by streamers that magically hung and twisted above their heads, and large plush badgers bristled excitedly from the corners while balloon lions growled and tugged on their weighted strings. 

Below the hanging streamers were what must have been at least a hundred partygoers. Following Neville through the crowd, Draco saw no less than ten heads topped with copper hair and wondered for a brief moment if Gin and Pansy were in attendance. He also noticed Ron, full plate in hand, a sauce-shaped mustache staining his face. His wife, Hermione, was only steps behind, holding hands with their youngest.

His stomach tightened. While he might have seen Ron more recently than he would have preferred (He had made the mistake of popping by Pansy’s flat once, right as they were dropping off the children for babysitting) he hadn’t seen much else of his graduating class. What if he ran into someone who still hated him? Or who had lost someone in the war?

Deep down, he knew he’d made his amends and that there would always be those that hated him, or blamed him, or didn’t want to know the new Draco. He just really hoped that his aunt, or even his cousin, wouldn’t be one of those people. 

As Neville and Draco turned past a bunch of Burst-Not Bouncing Bubbles and a herd of children chasing after them across the grass, he spotted the witch who could only be his Aunt Andromeda. Draco’s stomach tightened even more as they headed in her direction.

She looked so much like Aunt Bella that Draco would have sworn he saw a ghost. As he weaved his way through the masses of people, however, he started to notice the differences: her hair was lighter, more brown than black, her curls loose rather than tight and springy. It was her face where Draco noticed it most of all. Her curious brown eyes were so strikingly different from the horrid black scowl he was used to seeing. As soon as they connected with Draco, her entire face lit up, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek.

“My dear Draco!” she called, extending her hands out in his direction. “Neville owled to say you might be popping by, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” Her eyes watered as she looked Draco up and down. “So tall! And so handsome. My, you look just like Narcissa.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel surprised as he took his aunt’s hand for the first time in his life. She was so warm and welcoming, so different from Aunt Bella and even his mother. His mother, who he apparently looked like. He’d always been compared to his father, from the colour of his slicked-back hair to the steely arch of his eyebrows, all the way down to the sharp angle of his nose. 

“My mother?” he asked, his shock apparent in his voice. 

“Yes, oh goodness, yes.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “I can see her in your eyes. And your skin! I was always jealous of Cissy’s porcelain skin. Do tell her I say hello, won’t you?”

Draco nodded numbly, glancing down at their joined hands. “I’m sure she sends her best, Aunt Andromeda.” 

He wondered how long it had been since they’d seen each other. Years, decades even. His heart hurt just thinking about it, his mother giving up her own flesh and blood to appease the sacred family lines. How much time had been wasted over something so frivolous as pure blood. 

“Oh,” she chuckled, “please, call me Andy. Everyone does.” She gave him one more squeeze before releasing his hands from her gentle grasp. She wiped a tear away from her eye before giving him a grin. “Now, it’s almost time for cake! Would you both gather everyone together, and I’ll round up the birthday boy?”

Neville and Draco both nodded in unison as Andy bustled away, chasing after a lanky boy with electric blue hair.

“Is that...” Draco began to say.

“Teddy, yep.” Neville nodded. “His hair’s been blue for a while now, but when he was younger it was always purple.”

“Know him well?” Draco asked as they started wandering around the grounds. He wished he didn’t sound so damn curious about his own cousin, but he couldn’t help it. This was a side of his family he had never known, a side of the family that had somehow escaped the hard path of being a Pure-Blood.

Neville stopped every few feet to direct people towards the cake stand. “Yeah. Harry’s been helping Andy since he got out of Auror training, and after a while I started to help, too.”

“Why?”

Neville shrugged noncommittally just as Theo walked towards him. A smile broke across Neville’s face as he tugged Theo into a big hug.

“Why what?” Theo asked, his voice muffled as his mouth was pressed tightly into Neville’s chest.

“I was asking why Neville—”

“Loves you so much!” Neville interrupted with a laugh. He placed a kiss on Theo’s forehead before releasing him, slinking an arm around his waist as he did so.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Theo said. “I’m very good to him.” He threw Neville a wink. “In fact, if you come to the club later tonight, we’ll give you a show.” He winked at Draco as well.

Draco wanted to press the issue, especially because of Longbottom’s horrendous diversion, but was thwarted by birthday wishes.

“Happy Birthday to you…” the crowd around him began to belt out in unison.

A familiar voice to his right cut through the singers. Draco turned to his right, spotting familiar green eyes across the crowd.

“Happy Birthday to you…”

 _Potter._ It only took him five brisk steps to reach the scarheaded git. “Didn’t think you were a quitter,” he snarled. He had to scream the last word over the crowd of singers.

“...Dear Teddddyyyyyyy…”

Potter glared. “Didn’t quit.”

“...Birthday to you!”

Applause broke out around them, and Draco felt a drop of rain on his cheek. He sneered, then shouted again over the clapping. “Just couldn’t be in a class with me, then.”

His last word was punctuated by a loud clap of thunder, followed by the sharp icy beginnings of an April downpour.

“Not true,” Potter spat back as their surroundings became filled with wet witches and wizards scrambling for cover.

“Coward,” Draco practically snarled, stepping closer to Potter until they were chest to chest. They were generally equal in height, but Draco leaned forward onto his toes, giving him just enough height so he could glower down at Potter. “Couldn’t stand me showing you up, being better than you even after all these years.” 

Draco could feel each fresh drop of rain running down his cheeks as he continued to hover over Potter. “Were you just scared, Potter? That I’d beat you, be a better Dominant, Neville’s star pupil?” Potter inhaled as the rain started to fall in earnest. “Scared he’d like me better than you?”

Draco glared, raising his eyebrows as his hair began to cling to his jawline. Potter held his stare, his eyelashes fluttering as tiny droplets of rain clumped against them. Draco almost thought he looked distant, despite their bodies being so close, but before he could consider it further, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. 

When Draco looked back, Potter’s eyes had diverted to the ground.

“Could we not do this here?” Potter said, making a motion to follow the disappearing crowd and head indoors. Quickly, Draco grabbed his wrist, holding him still. 

“Malfoy, come on, it’s pouring.” Potter’s eyes were now staring at his wrist, cuffed by Draco’s fingers.

“Not yet.” Draco paused before releasing his grip. “If only we had...oh gosh, what’s it called again? Oh, right. Magic.”

Draco unsheathed his wand, and with a quick mutter and a swish of his wrist, he cast _Tutm Operculum_ around both him and Potter. The rain instantly ceased to pound against their shoulders as an invisible umbrella surrounded them. Draco couldn’t help but smile smugly at Potter’s look of surprise.

“Could’ve used that one when we played Hufflepuff.”

Draco shrugged. “As I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t mind seeing you soaking wet.” He spared a glance at Potter’s collarbone, where the first droplets of rain had pooled. He cursed his instinct to lick it and instead tried to think of something immediately less sexy than some dirty rain gathered at the nape of Potter’s neck. He scrunched his nose. “The falling to your death after the Dementors bit, I could have done without.”

“Thwas thddd yhhh,” Potter mumbled something, but Draco couldn’t hear it over the rain. He leaned in, pressing himself closer. Just to hear better, of course. The rain outside of his shield continued to pelt away, but inside it was dry. Warm.

“Third year,” Potter said again, and Draco thought he could smell mint and something sweet, like honey. 

“What about it?”

“The match with the Dementors.”

“And?”

“The other day at the, erm, club...you said the second task, the lake, was the first time you noticed me. During Fourth.”

Draco huffed, before inhaling again. Yes, he definitely smelled honey. “So maybe I noticed you earlier.”

“It’s not like you didn’t notice me before. We were practically enemies before Sorting even happened.” Potter’s hair was curled at the nape of his neck, and Draco wondered how they’d look cured around his finger. If they’d bounce back if he tugged. 

“I noticed you. Just... not... not like that.”

If he had been less distracted by the rain, by the scent of Potter’s mouth, he might have thought of a half-decent retort. Instead, he had blankly shown his cards, practically told Potter he had started wanking to him as soon as he knew what wanking was. Shameful Slytherin move. 

Draco tried to instantly divert. “So, you’re my cousin’s godfather.” Not the most subtle transition.

“So, you’re my godfather's cousin,” Potter responded, flashing a smile. Draco trained his eyes away from that gorgeous grin and instead focused on the shock of blue being chased by a swarm of red-heads.

“Is he... I mean, are they…”

“I’m taking him to the zoo next week. Come with me, and you can ask him all those questions yourself.” And with that, Potter ducked under Draco’s charm and was instantly soaked as he headed towards the warm house filled with his family and friends.

Draco stood stunned, as he watched Potter walk away. He couldn’t help but notice the cling of his wet shirt to the ridges of his back, the hard angles of his sides. How the water pelted against his arse, accentuating each plump mound as his hips swayed back and forth.

He wondered for a moment if Potter would wear joggers on their date as well, or maybe he’d trade them out for tight jeans or black trousers. Or maybe…

On their date.

_On their date._

Potter had just asked him on a date, right?

He needed to find Pansy. And fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thunderous applause to my cheerleader, Thunder_of_Dragons on this. And all my love to EvA and Malenkayacherepakha for your betaness and amazing input to this story. I would have not been able to write this chapter without you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a fun night, both at the club and in his bedroom.

He owled Pansy as soon as he returned to his flat.

_ Need to talk.  _

Her owl came back quicker than he expected. She must have been home.

_ Unless this is about reversing another one of your disasters before your parents arrive, I’m busy tending to Gin’s garden.  _

Blessedly, he still had an entire week before his parents were set to arrive. Still, he really needed her advice. 

_ Stop picking weeds and help me, you twat. It’s an emergency. Of the… Scarhead variety. _

He had barely poured hot water into his cup before her owl returned, miffed, spreading her wings as she cascaded into Draco’s kitchen. The eagle owl swiped a bourbon biscuit off the tray before dropping the letter directly into Draco’s steeping tea. He fetched it out before the parchment was ruined.

_ A Potter emergency? Why didn’t you say so? _

_ And not that kind of garden, silly.  _

_ Gin says to join us at the club, 8 sharp.  _

Draco rolled his eyes before casting a Tempus. It was near 4. Plenty of time for him to overanalyse his conversation with Potter before meeting his friend.

\---

And overanalyse he did. Draco replayed their moment in the rain while he showered. The way Potter’s eyes were so green despite the grey sky. How his hair stuck to his chin, always a mess even when soaked. Draco thought about how Potter casually brought up the zoo while he braised his chicken. While his coq au vin boiled, he thought about Potter’s arse as he walked through the pounding rain, his clothes sticking to his skin so tightly it left very little to the imagination.

And yet Draco kept imagining. How Potter would have looked if he turned around, soaking wet like he was in most of Draco’s dreams, smiling that gorgeous smile. Except this time, it would be in Draco’s direction, not one of his trio or another lion. No. That smile would be all his. 

Because of their thick robes during the day, and their bulky Quidditch uniforms during practice and games, it had always been difficult for Draco to really appreciate the physique of his fellow wizards at Hogwarts. He had always known Potter was thin, but it wasn’t until he saw him wet, clothes sticking to his skin and outlining his frame, that Draco was able to appreciate the beauty of Potter. 

His dinner had to simmer for at least thirty minutes. Just enough time to replay one of his favourite Potter fantasies. The ones he would deny having if anyone asked, of course. 

After setting a  _ Tempus Vigilate _ on his dinner, Draco headed down the hall to his bedroom. He supposed he could have sat anywhere in his flat, on the sofa or a table, or his favourite leather chair, but he had the time. He wanted to take his time.

Draco stripped off his trousers and pants before spreading across the crisp satin sheets of his bed. His hand instantly found his cock, half hard and excited to participate in whatever was to come. In his mind, he heard the shower running, the spray hitting the tile and someone’s skin in a soothing syncopation. 

Then Potter emerged, a vision of steam and olive skin, a fluffy white towel knotted low on his waist.

“Starting without me?” he said, removing his foggy glasses from his face, revealing his almost hurt-looking eyes.

“Never,” Draco smirked, leaning farther back into the pillows clustered against his headboard. He took a moment to admire Potter, torso bare, droplets of water gathering along the indentations of lean muscle, dampening the dark trail of hair leading down to his belly button, and then dipping lower beneath the depths of his towel.

Draco licked his lips. “Remove that blasted strip of cotton and get over here.” When Potter moved to lay next to Draco on his bed, Draco tsked. “Not here . ” He waved his finger in the air before pointing near his waist . “Here.”

Potter grinned, and Draco felt that smile course over his skin. That smile was just for him; Potter’s focus and attention were solely on him. 

And even though he knew it was just his own hand that was wrapping around his rigid length, Draco closed his eyes and let his fantasy fully take over. He cast a quick lubrication spell and let himself imagine it was Potter’s mouth surrounding his cock instead of his palm. 

“That’s it, Scarhead. Make my prick just as wet as your chest,” he groaned as Potter swallowed him. The soft heat of Potter’s mouth surrounded his need, his tongue teasing his foreskin as it ran up and down his length. “Fuck, Potter, your mouth.”

He knew what Potter could do with his mouth. How his lips looked after a biting retort, plump with the pride of a quick verbal victory. How his tongue moved when he spoke Parseltongue, twisting and vibrating as he hissed. Yes, he thought Potter would be quite good at this as well.

Draco jerked his hips upwards, forcing himself further into Potter’s mouth until the tip of his cock pressed against the back of Potter’s throat. He felt Potter gag around his length before he opened his throat and took down Draco’s shaft even more.

“That’s it. I knew you could take my cock,” Draco praised, pulling his hands from behind his head and threading his fingers through Potter’s locks. He barely applied any pressure, letting Potter set the speed, until he felt Potter take a deep breath around his length before swallowing him again.

Draco pushed downward, holding Potter’s head tight against his groin as he continued to suck. When he gagged again, Draco shifted his hand to rub the nape of his neck. “Breathe through your nose, Potter. You can do this.”

He felt the cool rush of air as it filled Potter’s nostrils, his mouth still tightly surrounding his prick. “Fuck.” Draco lifted his head, desperate for a glimpse of Potter’s mouth, stretched wide around his cock as his head was held in place. “You’re so hungry for it, aren’t you, you dirty lion?”

Potter groaned around his length, and Draco’s head dropped back against the pillows as he breathed through the pleasure. It was good, too good, and for a split second, Draco wondered if reality would be that good as well. Would Potter ever wrap those plump lips around his pale length, use that tongue to lick and suck and swallow him down?

“Gods, I’m so wet, I bet I could slip right into your tight little hole,” Draco murmured, clenching his eyes closed to hold tight to his fantasy. “Pound into you until you gasped and spat and cursed at me like the snake I am.”

He could imagine it now, Potter on all fours, or pressed against a doorframe, Draco sinking inside. Potter enveloping him with his tight heat before Draco began to fuck him so mercilessly that the only words he could say were “Fuck,” and “Yes,” and “ _ Sahaash asana harne abnaʃiness _ .”

With that thought, Draco spilled down Potter’s throat, coating his tongue and coating his own fingers with his seed. His body trembled as he tugged the remaining pleasure from his length before opening his eyes again.

His room was empty. No Potter with his head buried between Draco’s thighs. No fogged glasses on his dresser. No steam coming out of his bathroom. 

Only his sticky release all over his hands and his wand signalling that his food was ready for consumption. A quick spell vanished all evidence of his orgasm as he dressed and hurried into the kitchen.

Draco ate his dinner quickly, debating whether he should take another shower before donning a fresh shirt and pressed trousers. Five minutes later, he was standing outside of the lamppost, exactly at 8pm.

He murmured the password, and  _ Sugarquill _ unveiled itself for him. He couldn’t help but grin as he walked through the door, giving a friendly smile to the wixen at the desk, a lovely familiar face. 

The club did feel familiar now. He wasn’t showing up for a class tonight but to enjoy his newfound surroundings with his closest friend. He took pride in passing the door he knew led to the classroom and instead turned down a different hallway towards a section he had only glimpsed.

The bar was a bit separate from the training and viewing rooms and held no toys or platforms. Instead, comfortable couches lined the walls, and tall leather-capped barstools lined the counter. Draco was making his way to the bartender when a familiar voice called out to him. 

“Hey, you ponce, get your arse over here!” 

He turned and smiled at his best friend, currently nestled in her girlfriend's lap. Ginny had her arms loosely wrapped around Pansy’s neck, and they were laughing as Draco approached.

“Pans,” Draco greeted. “Gin.”

“Proper Malfoy in a seedy club, what would your mother think!” Ginny said, giggling as she pulled Pansy closer to her chest. 

“I’d rather not think about my mother right now, thanks,” Draco smirked. “I’ll just grab a…”

“Drink?” a low voice said from behind him. “Got you one already. And Gin, I grabbed you another amaretto sour.” Draco turned to see his friend, Theo, standing and handing him his standard, whiskey on the rocks. 

“Thanks, mate,” Draco said as he took the chilled glass. “Had fun at the party?”

“It was a scream.” Theo sat on the couch next to Pansy and Ginny, crossing his legs under him. Draco noticed a bit of chain wrapped around his neck, peeking above the collar of his loosened black shirt. “Neville dragged me off to the bushes right after we sang to Teddy. Snogged me all the way through that crazy storm.” He shivered. “Fucking freezing, but Nev kept me cosy.” 

“Let’s toast!” Ginny called out, raising her glass. “To good Doms, and even better Subs.”

“And to Draco, for joining us on his first night outside of the classroom,” Pansy added, lifting a green-looking martini. 

“Good point, love.” Ginny grinned. “To Draco!”

“To Draco!” Everyone called as they clinked glasses.

‘To Draco,” another voice joined them, as they all took a sip from their glasses. “Hope that’s just water in that cup, bear.” Neville held up his own glass, full of clear liquid and ice. 

“‘Course not.” Theo held up his tumbler, full of matching clear liquid.

Draco blushed, then knocked back his drink. “Why water?” he asked after patting his lips with a cocktail napkin.

“Gonna scene later,” Theo winked in response. “‘No playing under any influences’,” he said, his voice going lower so it sounded more like Neville’s gruff tones.

Neville shrugged, then grinned. “One of my biggest rules, but if you don’t want to follow it, we don’t have to...”

“Nope, perfectly happy with water, thanks!” Theo quickly took another sip, and Draco heard a faint ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ murmured under his breath.

“Not just my rule, either. Rule of the club. Of course, if you decide to play later,” Neville said, looking at Pansy’s martini and Gin’s cocktail, “Oli up front has sober-up potions behind their desk along with—”

“—Healing potions and balms, we know,” Ginny sighed. “I think you mentioned that at the end of every one of my classes.”

“Proper care is vital after a scene!” Neville said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Theo stood and wrapped his hands around Neville’s bicep, which was covered in a soft grey cardigan. “We know, we know, you take such good care of us. Now come sit down. We’re all sharing our ‘first time’ stories!” 

Neville beamed at Theo and allowed himself to be dragged to the sofa. He sat down first, before tapping his thigh and inviting Theo into his lap. “First time at the club, first time with our partners, or first time altogether?”

“Whatever you want to share,” Pansy said with a smile. “Gin was just telling us about her first time with—”

“Potter?” Draco interjected. “I need another drink before I hear about this.” He quickly motioned to the bartender, who charmed over another cold glass of whiskey.

“Harry?” Ginny made a face before looking at Neville. “No, his first time was with N—”

“N- Not very interesting, Ginny!” Neville’s normal vibrato came out more like a squeak, his eyes going wide. “Plus, Harry isn’t here to share. Why don’t you tell Draco about your first time scene-ing with your lovely girlfriend here.”

Ginny looked surprised, but regrouped quickly. “Sure thing, Nev,” she said with an easy shrug. “Well, we were here…”

“Right down the hall, actually,” Pansy chimed in.

“Mmhmm,” Ginny agreed, rubbing Pansy’s shoulder with her hand not occupied by her drink. “I had just finished class seven, I believe. Temperature play, which I knew Pansy would like.”

Draco knocked back another drink, before staring at his best childhood friend. Pansy sat, blushing and staring at Ginny like she was the most gorgeous woman in the world, like she had no problem with her girlfriend talking about her affinity to play in their intimate moments.

Draco wondered if he’d ever be that comfortable with himself, to sit around and discuss his wants and his needs. To be honest enough even with himself to know what those wants were. Even at that moment, he could feel himself awkwardly shifting in his seat, and he wasn’t the one who was currently sharing how good it felt to be bound while hot wax was dripped across their skin. 

“Oh gods, Gin, do you remember what you said to me that night?” Pansy stared at her with a dark and delightful expression.

“That your flame burned brighter than any candle I’d seen.” Ginny smiled softly at her, before placing a delicate kiss on her forehead. “You’re like wildfire, my love. Tamed, but never broken. Fierce, and so very, very strong.” 

She cupped Pansy’s chin, and the two embraced in a heated kiss, Ginny’s hands knotting around Pansy’s waist, Pansy’s hands threading through Ginny’s shorn locks. 

When they finally broke their kiss, Draco saw a smile he’d never seen on Pansy’s face before. Not stiff, or pursed, but soft and curved, so happy that it made Draco feel giddy inside.

Of course, it could have also been from the now third whiskey he was nursing. 

Gin leaned in to kiss her nose before turning to Theo.

“Are you sharing your first time with Neville, or first time completely?”

“Well,” Theo draped his hand around his boyfriend’s neck, “Neville has heard this story, but I don’t think I’ve shared it with Draco.  _ My _ first time was actually with a — oh gods — a Hufflepuff.”

Draco spat out the sip he had just taken, shocked that the hadn’t known about the Puff, nor the apparent sexual experiences of his friend and housemate. 

“Oh, yes. I said it. Fifth year, too. Before we Slytherins truly became the social pariahs of Hogwarts.”

“And which badger did you catch?” Pansy asked, her lips back in her signature pout. “Oh no, it wasn’t Ernie Macmillan, was it?”

“Ding ding ding!” Theo cheered. “First guess, too, very impressed.”

“I vaguely remember him sniffing around our common room,” Pansy responded smugly. “Was it all hugs and roses?”

Theo vehemently shook his head. “He squeezed me in between his O.W.L.s studies. Kept boasting about how he only had ten minutes before his next study hour began.” Theo winced. “Very fast, very little preparation.”

“Whereas I like to take my time, don’t I, bear?” Neville said, giving Theo a squeeze in his lap. “In fact, why don’t we go ahead and get you ready?”

“Hold on, Draco hasn’t shared!” Theo tilted his head towards the spot where Draco sat, and it didn’t matter how quickly he filled his mouth with whiskey, he was sure he wouldn’t get out of this. 

After all, he didn’t have anything to share. There was no ‘time,’, whether it be his first in the club, or first at all. 

“Oh, Draco hasn’t — ” Pansy started to laugh before she noticed Draco’s fearful eyes cut in her direction. “I mean—”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Neville growled into Theo’s neck, gracefully changing the subject, before lifting his gaze and giving Draco a wink. “We can hear about it another time. Right now, though, I want you sitting pretty for me by our bed. If you wait patiently, I’ll give you a reward.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a quick chat with his friends, and then turns into a bit of a voyeur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daddy dom Neville and Theo in this chap, y'all! Full penetration, a bit of choking, and a good time had by all. Enjoy!!! Let me know what you think about our Daddy Neville, and his precious baby boy!

Theo departed quickly down the hallway from Neville’s orders. In all the years he’d known Theo, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him move so fast. Neville leaned back into the sofa, taking a few more sips of his water.

“Aren’t you going to follow?” Draco asked. His drink was almost empty, and he wondered if he should order another one. 

Neville smiled. “I like to give Theo time to acclimate. Get into the right headspace.”

“Mmm, like when I make Pansy strip and tie her to a chair. Then I leave and steep my tea.” Ginny said with a grin.

“You’re drinking tea while I sit naked on hard, cold, metal?”

She shrugged. “Why do you think my hands are so warm when I come back in?”

“Because I’m fucking freezing?” Pansy spat out before she began to giggle. “I thought it was some sort of warming potion. And besides, you don’t always tie me up,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

Ginny laughed. “That’s true. Sometimes I make you sit still on your own accord.”

“Sure you don’t want to play tonight?” Pansy asked, peering over at Ginny like she was the only one in the room.

“If you do, make sure to go see—”

“Oli, yes, Neville, we know,” Ginny rolled her eyes but gave Neville a reassuring smile. “Maybe in a minute. Draco, didn’t you have an emergency? Of the…” Her voice trailed off as she raised her eyebrows at Draco.

“Yes, but…” His own eyes got wide as he tilted his head toward Neville. “We can talk about it later.”

“Or I can take a hint,” Neville laughed. “Besides, I have my boy waiting for me.” He stood, and as he was passing Draco, he placed a solid hand on his shoulder. “We’re playing in room two. Glass wall if you want to take a peek.” He gave Draco a wink. “Could be helpful, if you’re curious.”

Play didn’t necessarily mean sex. That’s what Pansy and Neville had both told him on numerous occasions. But if they were going to play, and that play involved sex, well… Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch. After all, he knew the people in that room. It wasn’t the same as flipping through Quidditch Monthly or delving into his fantasies. This was live, in front of him, and with people he’d have to look in the eyes afterwards.

Nevertheless, he was more than curious about how to properly ‘prep’ and not rush like Ernie had with Theo. If that situation came along for him, he wanted to be ready. A Malfoy was always prepared.

Once Neville left, Pansy patted the space next to her on the couch. “Now, what’s your Scarhead problem?” she asked with a grin.

“Not so loud,” Draco said sternly, before situating himself next to the couple. “He— I mean I think—well...”

“Spit it out, Draco,” Pansy said sternly.

“If one were to invite someone else out to a children’s outing with animals and other atrocities, could that be construed as a…”

“Date?” Pansy asked.

“Oh, did Harry invite you to the zoo with Teddy? That’s so cute!” Ginny clapped her hands in excitement.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You Gryffindors and your blatant joy. Yes, he invited me to spend time with my own cousin, if you must know.”

“But… as his date…” Pansy mused.

“I don’t know if it’s as his date, or as a friend, or Teddy’s cousin, or just to torment him on a Sunday afternoon.”

“Well, can you ask him?” Ginny said.

“Ask? No, I can’t bloody ask.”

“You Slytherins and your self-preservation. If you just ask, you would know.”

“And run the risk of making a fool of himself?”

“Exactly, thank you Pansy. At least someone’s looking out for my well-being.”

Ginny sighed. “Well, then you’ll just have to go and find out. If I know Harry, he’ll make sure you know one way or another.” She stood and set her glass down on the nearby table, before turning and holding out her hand to Pansy. “And now, I’m going to show you how asking for what you want works in your favour.” Pansy took her hand as Ginny pulled her off of the couch. “Let’s go see Oli for some Sober-Up, and then I want you naked, bound and desperate for my mouth before my tea gets cold.”

\---

Draco followed Ginny and Pansy down the hall, until they turned left towards the front desk. Definitely not wanting to see their playtime, Draco turned in the opposite direction and found himself in front of a clear glass wall etched with a two.

The wall exposed what could have been any ordinary bedroom. Theo sat on a long wooden bench at the edge of what appeared to be quite a comfy bed. His black shirt was unbuttoned, rolled up to the elbows and revealing toned arms Draco had certainly not noticed in school. His chest was defined, soft dips of muscle stretched across his stomach, the tiny buds of his nipples already peaked. Around his neck hung the loose metal chain Draco had glimpsed earlier, and he arched his throat as he leaned his head back.

He found himself so captivated staring at Theo’s expanse of toned skin, he barely noticed Neville had joined him. He had nestled Theo between his thighs, just like they had been sitting on the sofa, but this time Neville was not wearing one of his signature cardigans. In fact, he wasn’t wearing anything at all. 

Draco gulped as he took in Neville’s fully exposed form. Those cardigans really hid the bulk of Neville’s shoulders, and the muscles on his forearms were bigger than any Draco had seen, even in some of his favourite Quidditch magazines. He watched as Neville’s hand dipped under the hem of Theo’s pants, rubbing the bulge that hid under the thin fabric. 

Neville’s hands continued to dip in and out, caressing Theo’s hardening length below the thin cotton of his pants while his other hand twisted on the chain around Theo’s neck, pulling it taut. 

“Been wanting you in my arms all week, Teddy Bear,” Neville murmured right before bringing his lips to Theo’s mouth, then kissing his way to Theo’s cheek and jawline. 

Draco couldn’t pull his eyes away from the pair of them, Neville’s hand moving torturously slowly as he teased Theo. He looked so relaxed, his entire body melting into Neville’s touch, as his hand moved from twisting Theo’s metal collar tight around his neck to cupping his chin softly as they kissed. 

“You’ve got me so hard,” Theo moaned as Neville leaned forward and playfully bit on his lip. Neville only hummed in response as he dragged his tongue downward, mouthing at Theo’s throat, before latching on to the drop of his ear. 

He whispered something then, and whatever it was had Theo gasping as he stood and turned in between Neville’s thighs. They brought their lips together again as Neville worked off the remainder of Theo’s shirt from his shoulders. 

“Look at you,” Neville said, taking his time to admire Theo’s newly revealed skin. His lips dropped down to Theo’s chest, mouthing at each of his nipples, his hands grabbing at his waist. He lowered Theo’s pants just barely below his arse, exposing each cheek nicely to the clear glass wall. 

Draco gasped inadvertently as Neville’s hands continued to tease Theo, his mouth working his way back up to Theo’s throat, to the metal band that cinched tightly around his neck. He clutched the globes of Theo’s arse and began to knead them, exposing the tiniest of glimpses of a furled pink hole.

Despite Draco’s several recent visits to the club, he had yet to see anything close to penetrative sex. He knew the mechanics, of course, but had only tentatively stroked his own opening. Which he was unable to see, unless he had magicked some mirrors. That thought hadn’t occurred to him until he was staring at his friend’s puckered entrance. 

That was when he realised he was rock-hard, even though the scene had barely begun. Draco had tried to imagine what it would feel like, diving into the tight heat of another man, but he couldn’t know for sure. Would it feel like the solid clench of his fist? The soft slick of a lubricated sleeve? Or would it be more like sinking into a bath, relaxing and warm, and, oh, _fuck,_ wet? 

He pressed his palm into his erection, hoping not only to stave off any impending pleasure, but also to make sure it was reasonably hidden from the others that were joining to watch the show. The last thing he needed was his own inexperience to be exposed in the dim lights.

Draco couldn’t dwell on his own embarrassment for too long; as quickly as he had glanced around at his surroundings, Neville had pushed Theo onto the bed so his chest was pressed against the mattress and his legs were spread apart. His pants lay in a heap on the floor along with his shirt and Neville’s clothing, and despite being bared for anyone in the club to see, they both looked comfortable, warm. Safe.

Neville situated himself between Theo’s open thighs and kissed the nape of his neck, the knot between his shoulders. He worked his way down Theo’s spine, whispering words that Draco couldn’t decipher in between his kisses. He wasn’t even sure Theo could hear them; his eyes were closed, relaxed, almost as if he were asleep and not about to have intercourse with a bloody Gryffindor.

When Neville reached the base of Theo’s spine, Draco expected him to cast a preparation spell or even a lubrication spell on his fingers. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect Neville to continue on his path downwards, to dip his head in between Theo’s spread cheeks and...lick.

Draco gasped, and his face instantly turned bright red at his audible response. In all of his years, he had never heard of someone doing something _like that_. So crude, so disgusting, and yet…

And yet, he could see Neville’s eyes close as he continued to lick and suck at Theo’s most private area. His cock hung heavy between his own thighs, and he appeared to be more in bliss than in horror. 

Theo was also in complete pleasure as Neville licked his hole. His eyes were still closed, but his body arched backwards, his own hands reaching around to hold his cheeks apart as Neville continued to ravage him. Draco knew from some of his own experimentation how good some slight teasing around his entrance with the hard pad of his finger could feel, but he’d never thought about how it could be like that; how it could be wet.

His cock was practically throbbing in his trousers now, as he watched Neville open Theo up. He could hear Theo’s moans, hear the slick laps of Neville’s tongue. He pressed his palm to the front of his zip as Neville’s hand began to tug at Theo’s bollocks, but between the groaning of his former Housemate and the debauchery of Neville’s ministrations, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Looking from side to side, and finding that most of the surrounding attention was on the couple on the bed and not Draco himself, he quickly tugged his belt out of its loops, lowered his trousers, and grasped at his cock through his pants.

He wasn’t the only one. A few other voyeurs had pulled out their own pricks, or had their own hands stuffed under denim or cotton or velour. Even though this was his first experience at the club like this, Draco suddenly felt like he was a part of something. Like he belonged. Not a Death Eater, or even a virgin. Included, just as any other clubgoer on a Saturday night, watching two men make love in a glass room.

As everyone around him watched, Neville stood and gently flipped Theo so his back was now resting on the soft mattress instead of his chest. Draco could see how swollen Neville’s lips were, how his chest was heaving as he continued to twist and position Theo until his body lay parallel with the bedframe and his head dropped off the edge of the bed. 

Then Neville did something Draco had imagined in one of his fantasies. He held Theo’s arms tightly at his sides, and began to feed him his cock.

Draco watched, wide-eyed, as Neville’s cock filled Theo’s open, hungry mouth. His fingers dug into the soft skin of Theo’s forearms when he leaned forward, pushing himself farther and farther down Theo’s throat. At first he thought the motion was to hold Theo immobile while he was forced to take it, but then Draco noticed Theo’s hands.

Instead of being clenched, Theo’s hands were reaching upward. As if his body was trying to grab, to touch. His throat was arched, open, and taking every bit of Neville’s cock that he could. 

“That’s a good boy,” Neville whispered, as he threaded his fingers through Theo’s outstretched hands. “Taking Daddy’s cock so well.” 

Neville continued to pump his hips, sliding his length in and out of Theo’s mouth so slowly and reverently, his hands squeezing Theo’s in syncopation. Theo’s eyes were closed, his lashes fluttering as he was reduced to just taking, swallowing down what he could, at Neville’s mercy.

How would it feel to have that control, to be able to set his own pace and have someone open up to him like that? Would he ever feel so comfortable with someone else to ask for such a sacrifice? Or would he have to find both: someone he loved and someone that categorized themselves as a Submissive to unveil this type of beautiful relationship for himself?

Draco had never considered himself lucky. Lucky people don’t end up with the Mark on their arm, and scars etched across their chest, and carry a name like Malfoy. So he certainly wouldn’t be lucky enough to find what Neville and Theo had. 

Especially since the one person he might consider giving it all to had already left the club. 

Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes away, or his hand away from his cock as he watched a couple so deeply in love as they made love in front of him. Neville’s hand had found their way from holding Theo’s to teasing his hole, and Draco rubbed the tip of his cock with his thumb to tease himself as well. 

“Is that the spot?” Neville groaned after slipping two fingers inside and hearing Theo’s guttural moan around his cock. Theo couldn’t make any more noise as Neville slid his entire length deep into Theo’s throat and held. And held.

Draco tried holding his breath as well, wondering how Theo was keeping such control as Neville stoppered his air. Just when Draco was growing concerned, and having to release his own breath, Neville pulled out, giving Theo a brief reprieve before delving his cock back into the warm, wet heat of Theo’s mouth. 

“You’re so good at taking it, my baby bear.” Neville praised as his fingers continued to open Theo up. The position looked uncomfortable, but Theo still seemed so relaxed, as if the opportunity to have Neville’s cock down his throat was more pleasurable than air itself.

Finally, Neville stepped backwards, removing his fingers from Theo’s entrance and his cock from Theo’s mouth. He wrapped one of his hands around Theo’s metal collar, pulling it taut as his head dropped and his mouth met Theo’s once more.

They kissed, and Draco tugged greedily along his length. He didn’t bother to see who was looking anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding in front of him to care. He had never seen anything hotter in his entire life than what was happening only eight feet away behind a glass pane.

Neville broke their kiss and then murmured against Theo’s lips. “Do you want to sit on Daddy’s lap?” 

Theo moaned before eagerly nodding, and Draco clenched his own fist around his needy cock. Neville pulled Theo off of the bed and laid down himself, back to the mattress and feet planted firmly to the floor.

Draco watched with bated breath as Theo positioned himself on the bed, one knee on either side of Neville’s thighs. He watched Theo slowly lower himself down, piercing himself with every thick inch of Neville’s cock, Neville’s hands gripping his waist, keeping him steady and connected and safe.

Draco’s toes curled and his cock throbbed in his still-clenched palm when he watched how easy it was for Neville to slide into his partner. He had always thought it must be painful, tight and raw, but Neville had prepared Theo, made his entrance so damn wet that Theo had taken his thick cock with ease.

They all moaned loudly, Neville and Theo, Draco and the rest of the voyeurs, when Theo was fully seated in Neville’s lap. Draco, who had originally watched to stave his own curiosity, had never thought that he’d _get off_ on watching his two friends in such private positions, but he couldn’t help it.

Especially not once Theo started to rock. 

Theo’s arse clenched tightly as he undulated on Neville’s hard length, his hands reaching up to balance himself on Neville’s firm chest. 

“That’s it, baby,” Neville murmured as Theo rode up and down on his cock. His hands were still gripping Theo’s hips, helping him grind. “Make yourself feel good, I’ve got you.”

“Oh gods,” Theo moaned as he bounced up and down. “Oh fuck, yes Daddy.”

Draco began to tug at his own length in time with Theo, imagining what it would feel like if someone was moving like that on his own length, slipping in and out of warmth and tightness, using his cock to chase their own pleasure. 

How Potter would look, chest broad and hair sticking to the nape of his neck as he rode Draco’s own cock, his eyes closed and eyelashes fluttering with a green and black collar knotted around his own neck. How Draco would reach up, and pull Potter down by his collar and kiss him, breathe him in as Potter wriggled on top of him. 

The slick slap of Neville burying himself into Theo’s hole filled Draco’s ears as he imagined filling Potter’s hole, ramming himself into that wet heat over and over, being the reason Potter was crying out his name in pleasure. 

“Take care of my hole,” Theo moaned, and Draco tried to imagine what Potter might say. Would he beg for Draco to go harder, or faster? Would he whine so beautifully as Draco teased his slit? Would he thrust his own cock into Draco’s lubed palm as Draco pounded into him over and over and over again?

“That’s a good boy,” Neville moaned as he lifted his hips and fucked into Theo’s entrance. “I’ll take care of your hole, baby.”

One of Neville’s burly hands made its way to Theo’s backside, and while his cock was filling Theo’s hole completely, Neville began to tease his rim, adding to his pleasure. Draco tightened his grip around his cock even more, as he felt his bollocks tighten in anticipation.

He closed his eyes as his mind filled with images of Potter; wet and wild, coming out of the Black Lake; leaving the Quidditch locker room showers with just a thin towel around his waist, chest glistening with water. 

Potter bending over to pick up a quill, or a book, or one of Draco’s origami cranes that had drifted to the floor. That smile he wore when he saw his friends; the smile he flashed when he asked Draco to the zoo. That fucking smile that warmed something up inside of him. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Neville groaned.

“I’ll take care of you.” Draco murmured it to himself, to the image of Potter on his cock. 

With his own moan, Draco came, spilling his seed as he rutted into his fist. His entire body jerked with his orgasm, flooding his senses with pleasure, but also with realisation. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw Theo arch his back, baring his cock for Neville’s firm grip. When Neville grasped and pulled, Theo threw his head back in pleasure. “I’m coming, Daddy!” he cried as he began to paint Neville’s chest with thick stripes of his pleasure.

“That’s my good boy,” Neville praised as he lifted his hips, pumping himself eagerly into Theo. “Daddy’s going to come too, fill you up.” 

Theo nodded, barely holding himself up as Neville thrust into him. Neville groaned as he came, his cock buried deep into Theo. 

Neville wrapped his arms tightly around Theo’s back, and pulled him close to his chest. They lay like that for a while, Neville cradling Theo, rubbing his hands up and down his sated skin, whispering things to each other Draco couldn’t hear. Even though Draco had just seen so much of both of those men, he had to look away. Their moment was too precious, too private that Draco felt guilty watching it. 

He took the moment of reprieve to perform a quick cleansing spell and tuck himself back into his trousers. The group around him dissipated, some finding their own spaces, others heading back to the bar, until Draco was the only one who remained.

When he looked back into the room, Neville had stood and hooked his trousers over his hips. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and Accioed over a thick blanket, wrapping Theo up in it, before placing a soft, tender kiss on his forehead and leaving the room. 

Draco quickly ducked out of sight before Neville could see him. So many questions were running through his mind, and he knew he could ask Neville if he wanted. But first, he needed to go home and process everything he just witnessed. 

And maybe picture Potter on his cock again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco processes what he just saw.

Draco decided to walk home, hoping the cool night air would help him clear his head. The scene he had just watched ran through his mind with each step; not just how it had been to watch two men come together in such an intimate moment, but how very much in love they were. How every touch had been so gentle, so sweet and tender. Even the tugs on Theo’s collar had been reverent and controlled and  _ intentional _ . 

It wasn’t anything he had expected. When he had thought about BDSM in abstract, it had always involved hitting, pain, torture. Punishment. Draco had grown up with enough of that to last him a lifetime. 

What he wanted was love. What he needed was control.

Draco drew himself a warm bath and settled into the bubbles as he considered his wants and needs. Neville had given him a list of sorts at the beginning of his training, but he had disregarded it. Mostly out of embarrassment, but now he knew he needed to learn properly.

Without leaving the tub, Draco Accioed the list from his nightstand drawer. He started at the top and worked his way downward, making tiny checks next to things he understood and was curious about, circling words he didn’t know, and vigorously crossing out those that he knew he wasn’t keen on. 

By the time he was done, the sheet was covered and his cock was hard in the warm sudsy water. He drifted back to his earlier fantasy, Potter rocking on his cock, and set his palm to work. 

Draco pictured Potter in the bath with him; it was such a small tub, so the only place he could sit was in Draco’s lap, his back pressed against Draco’s chest. It gave Draco the perfect angle to wrap his hand and fist Potter’s wet, hard cock while his arse wriggled against Draco’s prick. Potter’s hands had begun to wander, dipping under the pools of water to clutch at Draco’s thighs, his calves, his ankles. 

The firm touch of Potter against his tender skin had Draco desperate already, but he didn’t want the fantasy to be over so soon. 

“Hands on the tub,” he commanded the imaginary Potter in his lap. And while he knew it was his own dream playing out, he still let out a gasp when Potter instantly obeyed, clutching the rim of the bathtub instead of Draco’s thighs. Even under the water, he could feel his cock throb at the idea of Potter listening to him, respecting him. Trusting him. 

While he pulled along his own length, Draco once again imagined he had Potter’s cock in his grasp. Potter’s head leaned back against his shoulder, and Draco could feel the heavy pants of his breath against his neck. 

“I’ve got you so hard, haven’t I, Potter? So desperate to come, you’re practically fucking my fist,” Draco said, tightening his grip as he jerked his hips upward. 

“Yes.”

Draco thought back to the sheet, to his circles and checks.

“Yes, what?” he said sternly, to himself, to his imaginary Submissive in the tub. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, fuck,” Draco groaned. He pulled harder along his length, along Potter’s length. “Your greedy little hole is so empty, isn’t it,” Draco moaned, thrusting his hips forward as if he were teasing the cleft of Potter’s arse.

“Yes, Sir, want you to fill it,” his fantasy Potter responded with a moan. “Please touch me,  _ please _ , god fuck me.” His hands were gripping the sides of the tub, forcing himself to not touch Draco no matter how much he craved. He wouldn’t touch anything else, not even his own cock, because Draco told him not to.

“Yes,” Draco let out as his palm sped up. “I love it when you beg.” He moaned, his hand drifting to his own cleft as he pretended he was toying with Potter’s. “Come when I tell you, Potter.”

Potter canted his hips, thrusting greedily into Draco’s palm. “I’ll try,” he said, but Draco could hear the desperation in his voice.

“You will,” Draco commanded, sternness in his own voice. “I know you will, just twenty more seconds.”

“Yes, unggh, yes, Sir,” Potter hissed, reminding Draco of his damn Parseltongue as he tried to still his hips. Draco continued to pull roughly along his length, counting down in his head.

_ Twenty _ . “Ask me to let you come, Potter,” Draco said, wanting to hear him whine as he counted.

“Fuck, please, Sir, I want to come.”

“Do you want, or do you need?” It was a fine balance after all; the want, the  _ need _ .

“Sir, yes, oh god, I  _ need _ to come,  _ please. _ ” 

_ Sixteen. _ He tugged again, his bollocks tightening up, and it would be so easy to release right now, to spill into the warm, wet water and let his fantasy drift away like the disintegrating bubbles. Draco closed his eyes tighter, trying to hold onto the image of Potter, feeling the weight of his body on his chest, hearing the whimpers of his frantic cries in his ears.

_ Ten. _ “Almost there, Potter,” Draco whispered into the empty air, wishing the splashes of water were filled with Potter’s olive skin, his toned chest, his raven mess of hair.

“Fuck, Sir, please,  _ please _ ,” Potter continued to beg, the sound so sweet to Draco’s ears.

_ Five. _ “So hot. Can’t wait to see your face when you come.”

He imagined it then, Potter’s eyes blown, green practically flooded with black, biting his pouty lips as he tried to hold out, tried to wait until he had permission to let go. How beautiful he would look coming undone at Draco’s command.

Draco increased the pace of his pulls to the point where holding back was almost becoming painful. He wanted to crest and spill, and in just  _ three… two…  _

“ _ Draco _ ,  _ Sir, please! _ ”

“One,” Draco said out loud, the word turning into a moan as he finally let himself crest. His orgasm was so intense, so forceful, that one of Draco’s hands jumped to grip onto the edge of his tub. Right where Potter’s hands should have been, if Potter were there with him and not just a figment of his imagination.

“Fuck, Potter,” Draco moaned as his body trembled through the remainder of his shattering orgasm. He dropped his head backwards, resting it on the cool tiles of his bathroom wall while he caught his breath. His eyelids stayed closed as his body shivered in the aftermath of his release.

Draco woke up, his body still immersed in the tub, the water now cold, the bathroom now dark. Reaching a blind arm out, Draco found a towel and wrapped it around him as he headed to his bedroom. 

Before he crawled into his sheets, however, Draco set the newly scratched and circled parchment on his bedside table, determined to see what other checks he could add to the list over the coming week.

\---

Draco spent his Sunday with his nose buried in a book. It hadn’t been easy acquiring the books that were necessary for his research; however, one glamour and a quick trip to the Wizarding town in York led him to a quite lovely shopkeeper who had an extensive collection of literature.

He had already looked up several terms that had been circled on his list the previous night, and was making updates to the parchment at his flat. Draco scrunched his nose just thinking about someone else seeing his notes in the margins, or the areas where circles had clearly turned into enthusiastic checks.

That was one thing he was working on. Getting over the embarrassment of  _ needing _ and  _ wanting _ something like this. Draco was used to wanting, and used to receiving exactly what he wanted. But these weren’t gifts, baubles and trinkets he could pick up with a handful of galleons. He couldn’t pay someone to be in this relationship, and even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. 

He paused his studies to prepare tea, and then dinner, and only after the sun had fully set did Draco close his books, crawl into bed and drift off to sleep.

His dreams were filled with images of floggers and nipple clamps, of silk and rope and chains. Sometimes, he was dressed in tight leather trousers, his chest bare and glistening with sweat. Other times he was in his green pants from his childhood, the ones with tiny baby snakes wearing party hats, while all of the club pointed and laughed at his missteps.

In his last dream, however, the leather was gone and so were the embarrassing pants. He stood tall, feeling confident in pressed black trousers, crisp white shirt and a tailored black vest. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his arm, tucked neatly at his elbows, exposing his wrists. It also exposed his Mark, as black as the day it was forced upon him, the last of his self-control being stripped with every etch of black. 

In the daylight hours, Draco kept the evidence of his past, of his Mark, covered, hidden under fabric and jumpers and jackets. However, in his dream, he had not only exposed its horror; he had embraced it. 

He had felt somehow empowered as he held a whip in one hand and his wand in the other. Like he was regaining the confidence he had lost that day, that year, the Dark Lord took over his life, his family. His home.

When he woke up the next morning, Draco felt energized and excited to go to work. He made great progress with the potion he was working on, and he even took a leisurely walk during his lunch break. He walked past the lamppost, of course, giving it a warm tap as he passed by before turning around and heading back to Slug & Jiggers.

“You look happy,” Neville called out from the doorframe of his shop. 

Draco blushed for a moment, his mind filling with the last time he had seen Neville, thrusting into his childhood friend before covering him with a blanket. Then he shook his head —there was nothing to be embarrassed about. They were all consenting adults, after all, and it had been a very entertaining display of affection.

Instead, Draco shrugged easily, walking towards Neville’s shop. “It’s a nice day for a walk.” 

Neville grinned as Draco approached. “Should be a nice night, too. If you’re free?”

Draco bit his lip. He wasn’t nervous, or embarrassed, but he hadn’t really paid attention in the last session. “Might need a refresher though,” Draco admitted, trying to meet Neville’s eyes.

“It’ll just be you and me in class this week,” Neville said, gripping his shoulders. “Around seven?”

Draco nodded, feeling a rush of relief and adrenaline coarse through his body as he answered. “Could we do eight instead? I’ve got an errand I need to run first.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Neville talk more about BDSM, and he gets some introspection from Pansy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who is continuing on this journey! We have ten chapters to go, and I'm so excited for the wonderful stories that are yet to come.

After work, Draco headed to Hawes & Curtis right outside of Diagon Alley. Pansy had recommended it when he owled, even giving him the name of someone to ask for. 

Alexsander met him at the door, escorting him inside and handing him a lowball of brandy. “Ms Parkinson speaks highly of her friend,” he smiled. “She insists we take excellent care of you or face detestable punishment.”

“Her threats are not unfounded,” Draco smiled in response before outlining his ensemble requests. Less than two hours later, he found himself fully outfitted with crisp black trousers, a broadcloth white sleeve shirt, and a six-buttoned tailored black vest that not only accentuated his slim hips but also highlighted his stern collarbone. 

He rolled his sleeves up, admiring how the pressed shirt creased at his elbows. His Mark gleamed, dark against his pale skin, and he flexed, watching how his tendons twisted and pulled. 

It was perfect, making him feel exactly how he had in his dreams. Empowered. Strong. Confident.

[Art by @bbee-can](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/keyflight790/blog/keyflight790/617855925847556096)

Draco paid Alexsander for the plush clothing, promising to give Pansy a glowing review on his behalf, and made his way through the bricks and back into Diagon with minutes to spare.

Whispering the password at the lamppost, Draco hurried down the stairs. “Hello, Oli!” he said to the wixen at the front.

“Mr Malfoy, don’t you look nice tonight,” Oli grinned. “Mr Longbottom is waiting in the training room,” they said before pointing down the hall.

Draco nodded with a quick, “Thank you,” before heading down the now familiar hallway.

Neville was seated when Draco walked in, and as promised, he was alone. “Prompt as always,” he smiled in greeting. “And looking quite handsome. Sit down. I thought we’d talk before trying anything out tonight.”

Before sitting, Draco pulled a neatly folded parchment from his pocket. “I filled this out, but if I could get a fresh one, I’d like to clean it up.” 

Neville nodded in understanding. “My checklist was practically shredded to bits by the time I was done, so many erasure charms it was impossible to see the words at the end.” He pulled out his wand and leaned forward, tapping Draco’s sheet with the tip. Instantly, the parchment was duplicated, a copy appearing in Neville’s hand. 

He flipped it over so that Draco could see his checklist, and instead of the scratches and checks, each option was coded a colour: red, yellow and green. “This copy stays with Oli at the front,” Neville said before turning the paper to face himself, “and I’ll pull it before each one of our sessions. Any change you make on your sheet will adjust on this one.”

“Clever,” Draco said, glancing from his black and cream parchment to the colour-coded one. 

Neville shrugged. “I do have good ideas occasionally.”

“Like killing that blasted snake.”

“Among other things,” Neville laughed. “In all seriousness, though, this checklist is vital to clubs like ours. Every person that plays has one that states their limits and boundaries. It keeps us and our Submissives safe.” 

“Does anyone else see them?” Draco asked, suddenly nervous about being judged on his greens, on his reds.

Neville nodded. “You will review your Submissive’s whenever you play. It’s imperative we adhere to each other’s RACK, or risk-aware consensual kink. For instance,” he continued, magically sticking the checklist to the wall and expanding it so it was easier to read, “you have watersports as a hard limit. Therefore, even if your Submissive enjoyed that element of play, it wouldn’t be incorporated into a scene with you.”

“Does…” Draco’s mind rushed with thoughts. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Does that mean, if our greens don’t match up, we should not…” Draco hated that he was questioning this. He hated that he didn’t just know the answer to everything. 

But he was also used to acclimating to the people around him, posturing in the Slytherin house, conforming to his father’s rules in his own home. Adjusting his traits to align himself with the best possible outcome.

“No one is going to have the exact same list.” Neville reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own checklist, as tattered as he had described. It was covered in scribbles and dirt, and a leaf had somehow clung to it _._ “Besides, your lists may change as you immerse yourself deeper into this lifestyle and you push your limits and boundaries.”

“So it doesn’t bother you that Nott—” Draco paused, wincing, before slapping his hands together.

“Doesn’t like getting spanked?” Neville inferred before shaking his head and folding his list back into his pocket. “It’s important that we are very clear on what we want and need, and what we can give, without judgement.”

Neville paused. “At the beginning, Theo thought he might have liked it, but we learned together that he did not.” He Accioed over a heavy trunk from the side of the room, and upon releasing the clasp, revealed several drawers with tiny wooden knobs. He opened one, exposing a long line of metal spheres, increasing in size from slim and short to wide and tall.

“Impact Play is a large part of this lifestyle for a reason,” Neville began to explain, picking up the tiniest sphere and holding it out in his palm. “It’s utilized as a stimulator for your body to produce endorphins.”

“Similar to your fight or flight instincts,” Draco added. He had read about how serotonin and epinephrine were often produced during scenes. 

Neville hummed in agreement. “But there are other ways to trigger those endorphins.” Pulling out his wand, Neville tapped the item in his palm. It began to buzz, vibrating against Neville’s skin. “The endorphins are what send our partners into Subspace, so if we can’t utilize spanking, flogging, or crops, we have to induce a stressful situation another way.”

Draco looked at Neville skeptically. “And how do you do that?”

“Everyone is different, like all the plants at my shop, and we tend to them differently as well.” Neville held the vibrator between his finger and thumb. “Since Theo doesn’t like my hand, I use one of these instead.”

“A vibrator?” 

“A plug that doubles as a vibrator.” Neville stopped the buzzing and placed the tiny sphere back in the box. “This plug, or really an egg, sits right against Theo’s prostate, stimulating him.”

“Sounds pleasurable,” Draco said, lips pursed. 

“Oh, it is,” Neville grinned. “So pleasurable that all Theo wants to do is come.” He picked up another egg, this one larger but still slim. It buzzed between his fingers, even louder than the last one. “Until all he can focus on is the sound of my voice, the sensations, and the urges to come.”

“But he doesn’t,” Draco said it as a statement, thinking back to his fantasy in the tub. 

_Come when I tell you, Potter._

Neville shook his head. “Not without my permission.” Neville tapped Draco’s sheet on the wall, pointing at _Restrictive Behaviour_. “You’ve marked Orgasm Control in green, I see.”

Draco fought his instinctual urge to blush. “I did,” he answered curtly.

“As well as speech and eye contact restrictions, rituals, and collars.” 

Draco gave a slight nod in confirmation.

“And Bondage.” Neville smiled softly. “I’m glad to see that one. I think it will help you to know when someone can or cannot touch you.”

 _Hands on the tub,_ echoed in Draco’s memory.

“But you marked Impact Play in yellow.”

Draco’s stomach turned a bit. “Yes.” 

“Spanking, flogging, paddles, all marked yellow.”

His first instinct was to spit a scathing retort, glare at Longbottom until he backed down. But Draco took a breath instead, reminding himself that Neville was helping him, teaching him. That he was on his side.

“Yes,” Draco said through a grimace.

“Why?” Neville asked the expected question so gently, his voice full of curiosity instead of judgement. When Draco didn’t answer, he continued. “Does inflicting pain still make you feel uncomfortable?” 

Draco snapped. He hadn’t wanted to, but he couldn’t help it. “Of course it does!” He felt his voice raise as it filled the room. “I don’t want to hurt someone. That’s not who I am anymore!” 

He could feel his magic burning under his skin, ready to ignite with the tiniest of sparks. Draco stood, angry that the feeling had returned, angry that he was facing his demons yet again. He rushed to the exit, but Neville got to the door before he could.

“It’s okay, Draco. It’s alright to feel scared or confused.” Neville placed his hands behind his back but continued to block the door. “I want you to breathe. Three, two, one, remember?”

Draco didn’t want to count. He wanted to leave, tear up his list, and never look back. But a part of him, the cold underneath the fire, reminded himself of how much he’d already overcome. So he closed his eyes and counted. 

_Three_ , he thought as he focused on his hearing. The buzzing of the vibrator, still cupped in Neville’s hands. Neville’s own breath, heavier than usual. The barest of hums of the temperature charms running through the room.

He took in a breath before thinking, _Two_. The wood of the chest, the smell of dirt and grass from Neville’s jumper.

Another breath. Then _One._ Draco clutched at the knot in his silk tie, black stripes with the tiniest glint of silver. Alexsander said it brought out his eyes, and with that thought, Draco opened his own. 

Neville’s smiling face greeted him. “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

Draco dropped his gaze to his black shined shoes. “My apologies.”

“Look at me, Draco,” Neville said softly, but firmly. 

Exhaling, Draco shifted so he was staring at Neville again.

“You do not have to apologise.” Neville looked deep into his eyes. “We all have faults, and we all have greatness. This is what makes us who we are.”

Draco wanted to nod, to agree, but he couldn’t. He had so many faults and so little greatness. 

“Hey.” Neville tentatively put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “How about for the rest of the week we focus on the other Greens and Yellows on your list, and we’ll come back to that one.” He gave Draco’s shoulder a squeeze. “Would that be alright?”

Draco considered the gentle touch on his shoulder, the kind, sincere look in Neville’s eyes. At that moment, he knew he trusted Neville, trusted that Neville would keep him safe. He slowly felt himself smile. “Yes, that would be great.”

“Great,” Neville grinned, happiness radiating across his face. “Now,” he continued with a wink, “let me show you what manacles are.”

The rest of the session was spent delving into the trunk, pulling out vibrators and plugs, ball gags and various restraints, including rope, silk, and cold metal chaining. 

He thought about Theo, the metal chain that was twisted to add pressure to his throat, that was tugged to guide him to new positions. His mind easily slipped to Potter in the tub, but this time his hands weren’t just gripping the edge. They were knotted there with silky green ribbon, twisting up from his wrists to clutch along the muscles in his biceps, holding him still, holding him steady. 

How good Potter would look in his own House colours, accentuating the gorgeous green in his eyes as Draco tied him to a chair and teased his cock with his tongue. 

How else he could stimulate Potter, make him cry, make him beg, send him into beautiful Subspace. 

That night he had wanked himself raw, thinking of wrapping Potter’s wrists around his wrought iron bed posts, knotting his ankles as well so all his body could do was twist and beg, crying for Draco’s touch, his hand, his mouth, his cock.

Not that Potter wanted any of that. Draco tried to remind himself, but his fantasies continued throughout the week. 

When he returned the next night, Neville showed Draco how to check his Submissive’s blood circulation, to see if a muscle or tendon was being stretched too taut. They used realistic dummy’s again, and Draco wondered if Neville ever played with anyone else to explore his own green kinks that didn’t overlap with Theo’s. 

If Draco could play with a Submissive and have a relationship outside of the club. Was that allowed, and if so, would he want that? Deep down in his heart, he didn’t think so; he wanted a partner in play and in life. 

It might not be possible, but Draco pushed those depressing thoughts out of his mind and focused on Neville’s teachings. 

Neville continued to show Draco multiple ways to safeword if someone couldn’t be vocal; whether they were gagged, or under a speech restriction, or any other element that might hinder sound, a secondary hand motion or signal could be exhibited to end the scene. 

Everything in play seemed so safe, so consensual that it was putting Draco’s fears at ease. There were so many ways a Submissive could be hurt, but so many more that they could be safe, if Draco focused, if he learned and practiced. 

At its core, it was similar to learning Potions. A single mistake could destroy a potion, but if brewed correctly, it could help. It could save lives. 

After class, Draco made his way to Pansy’s front stoop.

“If I was straight…” Pansy grinned, opening up her door. “You’re a stunner in that outfit.”

“Do let Alexsander know,” he said as he crossed the threshold. “Poor fellow was in a tizzy with worry.” 

Pansy’s eyes lit up. “Good to know I still have my charm.”

Draco smirked before sitting down at her dining room table. He crossed his arms and sighed loudly.

Raising her thinly manicured eyebrows, Pansy asked, “Elvish wine or scotch?”

“Scotch,” Draco responded, sinking in his seat.

“That bad, hmm?” Pansy pulled two tumblers out of her cupboard before pouring a finger of scotch and a splash of water into both. She handed one to Draco, and took a seat next to him at the table. “Talk to me. Parents?”

“No, although don’t remind me, I have to see them this weekend.”

“Potter, then.”

Draco choked on his sip of whisky, flinching at the leathery bite. “Potter? Why would you say that?”

Pansy shrugged. “Ever since Fifth, it’s been either parents or Potter. Process of elimination, really.”

“Well it’s not—” Draco started to defend himself, but paused. “Fine, it is Potter, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Nervous about your date?” Pansy asked, taking a sip of her own drink. “Ginny won’t be back for an hour or so, but I can owl her?”

“No, it’s fine because It’s not a date,” Draco spluttered. “At least, I don’t… exactly know if it is or isn’t.” His cheeks were getting flushed, and his hands were gripping his glass tightly. 

Pansy reached out and put her hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Hey,” she said softly. “It’s you and me. What’s going on?”

“I—” Draco started. He could do this. He could state his needs to the people he trusted. “I want to ask you a question. It’s personal.”

“Darling, you already know I like to crawl around with a ball gag in my mouth. What’s more personal than that?”

Pansy was right. They knew so much about each other; if there was anyone in the world he could ask, that he knew would give him an honest answer, it was Pansy.

“Has Ginny ever...punished you?” Draco asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Punished?” Pansy asked, staring at the ceiling in thought. “More times than I would like.”

“So she’s hit you?”

Pansy looked at Draco, surprised. “She’s spanked me, flogged me, sent me into such a deep Subspace it took almost thirty minutes for me to come back to her, but I wouldn’t call that ‘hitting.’”

“What would you call it, then?” Draco asked.

She shrugged and then downed her drink. Pansy Accioed over the bottle before answering. “It depends. There’s always a motive behind it.” After pouring herself another glass, Pansy offered the bottle to Draco. 

“Does it...” He felt the blush crawl up his cheeks, and instead of pouring more liquid into his glass, he took a swig straight from the bottle. It was barbaric, and it burned a bit, but the warmness building inside his belly fueled him enough to finish the question. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Pansy nodded. “At the beginning, or if I broke one of our rules.”

“Rules?” Draco interjected.

“More like…guidelines, or boundaries we set together.” Pansy shook her head and took another sip out of her glass. “I’m not explaining this right.” 

Draco stared at her, perplexed. “Please, just...keep trying.”

Pansy took a breath. “The first few smacks always hurt. Sometimes, they’re quick, louder than you expect, but it always has a sting.” She paused, looking at Draco for confirmation he was following. 

He nodded, encouraging her to keep going. 

“But then it...well, if it’s not a punishment, that is, it’s almost like…” Her eyes went a little out of focus, until she cleared her throat and continued. “Like everything else falls away. Your worries, and your stress, and all you can do is feel.”

“Feel pain,” Draco said flatly.

“Pain, maybe, but it’s not the same as a cut or a bruise. It makes everything more sensitive; your body focuses on that one source.”

She audibly sighed, then looked at Draco. “Probably like flying.”

“You’ve never been on a broom, Pans.”

“No,” Pansy chuckled. “Got Mum to write a note for Hooch during mandatory lessons. But I would imagine, the first few feet off the ground can be scary.”

He had to admit she was right. Even now, flying was still so exhilarating, but it was partly because of the underlying fear, kicking off the mound, feeling your lungs tighten as your body began to rise.

“But once you’re in the air, it’s like—”

“Everything else disappears.” 

Pansy looked at Draco, and then nodded. “You can just let go.”

“And it feels good?”

“Like heaven,” Pansy grinned. “Sometimes, like hell, too, but it’s what I crave. It’s what I need, and after, when Ginny’s holding me...” she trailed off with a soft smile. “I’ve never felt so safe.”

“And Ginny likes it?”

She grinned. “Oh, yes. How sensitive I get, how much I beg and cry for her.” Pansy sat up straight in her chair. “I used to get so embarrassed at the sounds I’d make, but Ginny loves them.” 

“She loves when you cry?”

“She loves when I let go,” Pansy said confidently. “She loves that she’s helping me, and I love that she’s strong enough for the both of us when I need her to be.”

“She nurtures you, so you can fully bloom,” Draco said, more to himself than anything else.

Pansy laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Neville, darling. Now, finish that scotch. Bottle’s ruined now that you took a swig out of it.”

Draco dreamed that night of playing Quidditch; flying high above the Hogwarts grounds, chasing the Snitch, chasing Potter. How happy he felt, soaring through the clouds, Potter’s laugh as warm as the sunlight on his back as they played.

\---

At his last lesson, Neville spent the majority of the time explaining how different postures and rituals were useful to prepare his Submissive for a scene, and how even a different facial expression or breathing pattern could evoke different emotions of power, authority, and control while in play.

“You are in control, but you are not in charge,” Neville said during their last session of the week. “At best, you are planting the seeds, but your partner is watering the earth. You are nurturing the plant together, every stem, every leaf. Your actions affect each other, and how healthy your flower will grow.”

Draco nodded, but that feeling of flying kept creeping into his mind. “And if my flower needs something I’m not sure I can provide?”

Neville paused. “Your limits are your limits, Draco. But if you’re curious about something, we can talk about it.”

Draco felt the urge to flee again, but kept himself rooted to the spot. The safety measures and elements he had learned throughout the week flooded his mind, and he steadied himself in Neville’s steady gaze. 

With a gulp, Draco admitted to himself, and said out loud, “I’d like to learn more about impact play.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes on his date/not-date with Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy chapter, with Luna and Rolf and Ginny and Pansy and Draco and Harry and Teddy! We're at the zoo, y'all!

Draco spent his Saturday panicking.

It wasn’t the same  _ glass smashing _ ,  _ furniture turning, china ruining _ panic that he had felt before, but he still Flooed Pansy all the same.

“I need your assistance,” he tried to say calmly, but he winced at the alarm in his voice.

Pansy raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Potter or parents?”

“POTTER, okay? It’s Potter!”

“What about Harry?” Ginny called out from behind the flames. 

“Draco’s freaking out about his little not-date tomorrow,” Pansy said over her shoulder.

“Don’t just stand there, woman. I’m having a fashion emergency.”

“Want us to—” 

“Get your arse over here.” Draco paused; Pansy knew about fashion, but Ginny knew about Potter. “Both of you,” he added, before running back in the direction of his wardrobe.

He heard the fire roar, and then footsteps in the hall. Ginny entered his room first, her eyes wide. 

“First time in your flat, Draco, but I honestly didn’t expect you to be this  _ messy _ .” 

“Did a Wildfire Wiz-bang go off in here?” Pansy asked, following Ginny into his mess of a room.

Draco had to admit, it was a bit more...cluttered than usual. He had several different shades of jumpers strewn across his bed, and his floor was covered in trousers.

“I have nothing to wear.” Draco slumped against a pile of robes he’d discarded in the corner. 

“You might still be in the closet, darling, but you’re the only thing left,” Pansy said with a sigh.

Draco shot her a glare. “Not helpful,  _ darling _ ,” he said curtly, staring at the mess circling his feet. “I know what to wear to galas, and fundraisers, and even birthday celebrations, but not to the zoo on a date-not-date with my cousin and his not-unattractive Saviour of the Wizarding World godfather.”

“I’d start by not calling him a Saviour to his face,” Ginny grinned. “Unless you want to be punched again. I bet Harry can wallop you harder than Hermione.”

Draco rubbed his nose unconsciously. “Wouldn’t doubt it,” he grumbled in response.

Pansy pulled her wand out and began to levitate several different items from across various piles, until several items of clothing were hovering in the air.

“First, we have a dark grey shirt with your acid-washed jeans. Pair it with your green trainers and you have a casual, ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look.”

“Very messy and relaxed,” Ginny added. 

Draco frowned. “I’ve never ‘rolled’ out of bed, though.”

“Too true. Next option, then.” She flicked her wand, sending the rejected outfit back to the wardrobe where the items folded themselves properly on his shelves. “Navy jumper, khaki trousers, brown loafers and,” she searched the piles before Accioing a belt. “Brown belt gives you a classic look.”

“Preppy,” Ginny said, tilting her head.

“I’d look like a Ravenclaw,” Draco sighed. “It’s useless.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Pansy said. “This is what I do for a living after all.”

“And you’re divine at it,” Ginny said with a smile. 

“Thank you, I agree.” Pansy scanned the floor once more. “Ah,” she said, drawing her wand in circles, finding the pieces she was looking for.

When the outfit fully assembled in front of him, Draco gasped. It was perfect.

\---

Draco approached the entrance of the London Zoo at five to two. The sun was out in a surprising display of Sunday afternoon cheeriness, and Draco tugged at his collar uncomfortably.

The girls and he had chosen his black denim jeans, paired with a white and black checked shirt. In the comforts of his flat, the outfit had reminded him of his newly pressed suit, with its crisp white shirt and tailored black vest. However, in the heat of the sun, he just felt overdressed and awkward as he waited for Potter and Teddy to arrive.

They were late. Draco cast a discrete Tempus after a few moments, surprised that only eight minutes had ticked by. The heat was sweltering, and with an irritated frown, Draco decided to roll up his sleeves before heading to the nearest Apparition point and ditching Scarhead. It was his fault for not being timely after all. 

He had just finished rolling up the sleeves on his checked shirt when he heard that laugh. The same one that had filled his dreams a few days before. 

“Finally showed,” Draco said in a huff. He wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t stop looking at Potter. His hair had been recently combed for once, and he was wearing a thin green shirt that stopped right above his wrists. The top two buttons were open, exposing a tuft of coarse black hair that stopped right below the nape of his neck.

“Surprised you showed at all,” Potter chuckled, and Draco realized with a start that he had been staring at Potter’s collarbone instead of his face. Snapping his gaze up, Draco noticed a faint blush colouring Potter’s cheeks.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” Draco said, surprising himself with his stern tone. He watched curiously as Potter’s cheeks darkened even further.

“I’ll—” Potter coughed awkwardly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His hands reached forward and gripped Teddy’s shoulders. “And we’re only late by a few, Malfoy. Teddy couldn’t find his lucky socks.”

Teddy’s hair was a shock of green, and when Draco glanced down, he saw a scarlet sock peeking out of one of Teddy’s trainers. His other foot seemed to be wrapped in yellow. “Your lucky socks seem to come from two different pairs,” Draco observed.

“One was my mum’s, and one was my dad’s!” Teddy grinned. “And now you’re going to show me the snakes, right, Harry?”

“That’s right, buddy,” Potter nodded. 

“And Doxies, and Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Teddy added.

Draco glanced questioningly at Potter. “I don’t think they have Doxies here,” he said, looking around at the Muggles with their tickets clutched in their hands.

“Not here,” Harry grinned. He then waved his arm, insisting Draco follow him as he led the trio past the main entrance and around the outer circle. 

“Where are we going, Potter?” Draco asked, forcing himself to stop staring at Potter’s arse swaying in front of him, barely covered with his tight-fitting jeans. When he looked up, he could see the blue waters that contained the aquarium blending into the dry dirt of the plains that held the kangaroo exhibits.

“You’ll see,” Potter said with a trickle of laughter. They turned the bend and were quickly met with a stone wall covered with twigs and leaves from the nearby trees. As they got closer, the stone wall morphed into a heavy stone door,  _ Fantastic Zoo for Fantastic Beasts _ etched across the top of the newly revealed entrance.

“Rolf and Luna built this place,” Harry said, pulling his wand out of his pocket. He outlined a series of shapes on the stone door, and eventually, it swung open, revealing a bright stone path leading to a wooden archway.

“It used to be the Reptile house,” Teddy said with glee. “Remember, you told me about the snake, Harry?”

“Mmm,” Harry grinned. “When I was around your age, I freed a snake right here. Didn’t know I was a wizard at the time though, like you do.”

“And they closed the exhibit, and Ms Luna and Mr Rolf built a Wizarding zoo.” 

“With Doxies,” Draco said, still not convinced. 

“They even had a Short-Snout whelp last summer, until Charlie took it to Romania.” They had reached another set of doors, but Draco couldn’t see past the steamed-up glass windows. “Whole place is tucked in here,” Potter said.

Draco nodded, reaching out his arm to open the door. It was then he noticed. 

_ Fuck, _ he thought as he quickly recoiled his exposed forearm, hastily tugging down his shirtsleeve to cover the Mark. 

However, he couldn’t even get the fabric untucked from his elbow before Potter’s hand was there, holding his grip still.

“Don’t,” Potter said in a whispered rush of words. “It’s—” 

Draco looked up from his Mark to Potter’s face. His eyes were glued to the black outline still firmly in place on his skin, even after all these years. Draco expected horror, but what he saw was… different. Potter almost looked sad, regretful, as if he had put the Mark there instead of the Dark Lord.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Draco said hoarsely. “Should have never—”

“Nonsense,” Potter shook his head. “It’s bloody hot in the exhibit. It’s— it’s fine. Just a shock to see one again.”

“I can put a Glamour on it.”

“No, it’s— I promise, it’s fine.” Potter offered him a smile, but to Draco it still looked painful. “We can’t let our past define us. That’s, well, that’s what my Mind healer says at least.”

“C’mon!” Teddy whined. “I want to see the Billywigs.”

Draco smiled at his cousin and reached out for the door again. Draco pulled the handle and was blown away, both by the gust of heat, but also by the space itself.

Draco had expected a narrow stretch of hallway with glass enclosures on either side filled with green animals like snakes and lizards and tortoises.

What he saw, however, looked to be at least three times the size of the previous Reptile house, with ceilings at least twenty feet high. Instead of cages lining the walls, the ground acted as a barrier, stretching from icy cold to sandy hot, to grass to dirt straight into deep blue waters and back. Draco could see the slight fizzle of charms surrounding each transition, but he wondered if the animals were able to detect their magical barriers.

“That snake is huge!” Teddy yelled, pointing at the ceiling.

Draco looked up, and sure enough, the rafters were covered with snakes. An especially large, scaley one twisted around a nearby column before falling to the thatched tiles beneath their feet.

It hissed on impact, lifting its head and flicking its tongue angrily. Draco instantly tugged Teddy behind his back. 

“Hey!” Teddy yelped in surprise as Draco pushed him closer to the wall, away from the path of the boa constrictor. Just as quickly as he had shielded Teddy, Potter stepped up directly in front of the snake.

“ _ ʃanefraeslis hassorʃgona,”  _ Potter hissed back at the monster in front of him, and the snake instantly settled before wrapping itself loosely around Potter’s ankle.

“Good to see you too, old friend,” Potter cooed at the snake, rubbing its head with the tip of his finger. 

“What’d you say to him?” Teddy asked, yanking away from Draco’s nervous grasp. He bent down and began happily rubbing his finger up and down the scales of the snake’s back. “So scaly, it’s awesome,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Told him he was getting fat,” Harry laughed. He turned to Draco, and held out his hand. “He won’t bite,” he said with a smile. “Rolf keeps him well fed, obviously.”

“Just—” Draco wished the heat on his cheeks would dissipate, acting so scared by a bloody snake, but he knew the colour would only darken further if he took Potter’s extended hand. “Not great with snakes.”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Teddy teased from the ground as he continued to pet the snake. 

“And I also lived with one. Much bigger.” Draco shuddered. “That one did bite.”

“The one Mr Neville killed, right?” 

“Right, Teddy,” Potter said, leaving his spot and walking over to Draco. “You okay?” he asked, concern prevalent in his voice.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Draco bit. He frowned at his tone, coughed, and tried again. “I mean, I was surprised, that’s all. Why are there snakes here, anyway?” Draco glanced to check on Teddy, who was still content petting the snake, before looking back up at the rafters. “Not exactly magical.”

Potter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, before grinning. “Well, this fat git was the first one I freed, back when I was eleven. He couldn’t exactly go back to Burma, so I guess he stuck around.” Potter shrugged. “Ate rats and lived in the air ducts.”

“And the rest?” 

“I… might have come back after the war and freed the rest of them.” Potter scuffed his trainer across the ground. “It’s why they closed it, actually.”

“You closed an entire exhibit.”

“Thank goodness he did!” Draco heard a chirpy voice from over his shoulder. When he turned, he was greeted with a familiar face.

“Luna!” Potter cheered, stepping close to Draco in order to hug his friend. Draco hated how good it felt to have Harry’s thigh press against his own as he leaned into Luna. 

“Draco, you remember Luna?” 

“Of course, so good to see you,” he said, extending out his hand. “Lovely place you have here.”

Luna giggled. “Always so formal, Draco.” She shook his hand before pulling him in for a hug. “And this is my husband, Rolf,” she said, motioning towards the tall man next to her. 

Rolf ran a hand through his curly brown hair before extending it out to Draco. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” Draco said as they shook hands. “Impressive charmwork.”

“Thank you,” Rolf said, his chestnut eyes lighting up. “My grandfather had a similar setup in his trunk.”

“Speaking of charms, honey,” Luna interjected, “I think the Bowtruckles are hopping from the Fraser Firs to the Rubber Trees again.”

“Right,” Rolf nodded. “Edward, would you like to help us catch some Bowtruckles?”

“Yes!” Teddy gleamed. “Do you mind, Harry?”

“Not at all.” Potter met Draco’s gaze. “Now I can show Malfoy my favourite exhibit.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry hang out at the zoo.

“And what would that be?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows as Teddy scurried away after Luna and Rolf.

“You’ll see,” Potter grinned mischievously, holding out his hand again. This time Draco took it, not worrying about the blush rising across his cheeks as he followed Potter down a winding dirt path.

They ended up on a grassy knoll with a scattering of fully mature trees. As they walked through a containment charm, Draco was surprised to feel the air shift from a muggy heat to a calming breeze.

He was also surprised that even though they had clearly reached their destination, Potter did not let go of his hand. Instead, he threaded his fingers through Draco’s as he led him to the closest black walnut.

Draco could hear birds chirping, but he couldn’t see anything. Instinctively, he reached for his wand with his other hand. The hand that wasn’t currently tingling in Potter’s grasp, that is. “What are we looking for?” Draco asked, trying to stop his mind from focusing on the fact that he was, indeed, holding Potter’s hand on a hillside in a Wizarding zoo.

Potter placed his finger to his lips, motioning for Draco to be quiet, as he studied the limbs of the trees. After a moment, Potter raised his hand to point towards one of the uppermost branches.

Draco squinted into the tree and subsequently into the magicked sun that beat down on the exhibit. He thought he saw, but no. It couldn’t be.

He opened his mouth to ask his burning question, but then remembered Potter’s request that they stay quiet. Thinking quickly, Draco leaned forward, towards Potter’s ear, and whispered his ask instead. 

“Is that—” he started, but his words stuck in his throat. They were all of a sudden close, so close that instead of the smell of walnut and grass, Draco could only smell honey, could only smell Potter. If Potter just turned his head, only slightly, they’d be face to face, close enough that Draco could just lean a bit more and—

Potter nodded, still staring up at the tree, and he gave Draco’s hand a squeeze. Draco felt the thrum of excitement all the way up his arm as he forced his stare from Potter’s ear back up to the creature in the tree.

He’d never seen a Golden Snidget before, outside of _Quidditch through the Ages_ , that is. He knew the story, of course, how Bragge offered Galleons to the Quidditch player that could catch the golden bird, and he was pleasantly surprised how closely the tiny creature resembled the snitch they used now.

The Snidget’s body was almost comically round, its feathers shimmering brightly in the artificial sun. Attached to its large body was a long, skinny beak, right below tiny eyes that surveyed the trees around it.

A branch snapped in the distance, and Draco gasped as the beast spread its feathers and took off into the sky, a golden ball disappearing in almost an instant. It was beautiful, stunning, and for a moment, Draco wondered what it’d be like to be up on a broom, chasing the bird all over a pitch.

“Want to fly?” 

He felt Potter’s question, the cool, minty breath on his cheek, more than heard it. He blinked, centering his gaze, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with green instead of gold.

“What?” Draco whispered, telling himself it was just to hear Potter’s question and not to feel the heat of him against his skin one more time. 

“Makes you want to fly, right?” Potter’s face was so close as he continued to whisper, even though the bird was long gone from their tree. His face was flushed, and it reminded Draco of the last time he saw Potter fly, before the war and the scars across his chest. Before everything went to shit. 

“Haven’t flown in a while,” Draco said, his voice barely audible. It was the truth, but it also didn’t matter what he said, he just wanted to keep talking. To hear Potter talk in that low whisper, to have their faces so close that he could just lean, only a little, blame it on the wind, or —

“Maybe we could go?” Potter said, his voice a little louder, as if he wanted to make sure Draco heard every syllable. “Maybe—” Potter’s eyes dropped to stare at his feet, but his lips kept moving, “Maybe on our next date?”

Draco could still hear Potter talking, but the sound wasn’t reaching his ears. The only thing he could hear was the chirping of the Snidgets and Potter’s words. _On our next date, next date._

Potter’s hand felt loose in his own, and Draco became distinctly aware that Potter was backing away, his face fully red and his eyes staring at anything but Draco’s own, and what if he thought that — no, Draco couldn’t let him think that this wasn’t what he wanted. 

This was exactly what he wanted.

“Doesn’t have to be, we could just go as—as fri—”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco grinned, before taking his hand and lifting it over his head, pushing until his body pushed up against the rough bark of the tree. He leaned forward, finally, _finally_ , closing the distance.

His body tingled as he heard Potter’s gasp of awareness right before Draco swallowed it, bringing their lips together into a breathtaking kiss.

Draco had kissed someone before, but it had been Pansy, practically like kissing his sister, and it had felt so horribly wrong. This, though, felt so incredibly right. Draco leaned into Potter, crowding him even further into the tree, and even though the bark must have been rough on his back, Potter was soft in his arms, pliant and willing and so very sweet.

His hand found its way to Potter’s hip, where it lingered, gripping the soft cotton of his thin shirt. He could feel the warm hardness of Potter’s muscles right below, his hips jutting out, seeking friction as Draco slipped his tongue into Potter’s mouth.

Potter let out a noise that almost sounded like a mewl, and Draco finally dipped his fingers under the hem of his green shirt, gripping at his hips while his other hand pushed Potter further against the tree. Potter was caught, tethered between Draco and the hearty bark, and when Draco manoeuvered his hips, he felt the hard neediness of Potter against his thigh.

He wanted, _oh fuck_ , he wanted to turn Potter around and press his bare chest to the tree, to get on his knees and open him up with his tongue. He wanted to fill Potter, to fuck him hard, to tug on that ridiculous mess he called hair and then leave him, knotted to the root, waiting, wanting, begging for release. Begging for Draco.

[Art by @mad1492](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/keyflight790/blog/mad1492/619742662832095232)

But he couldn’t do any of that. Not just because they were in public, at a children’s zoo where his cousin was who knows where, but because Potter didn’t want that. He had left the club. He had left the lifestyle that Draco found to be his anchor.

Even though he wanted Potter, he _needed_ that control. And he couldn’t ask Potter to give up his own control, to force him into an arrangement he didn’t want, didn’t need.

He needed to stop.

Draco relaxed his hand from Potter’s grip.

“We can’t do this,” he said, his eyes on the grass at his feet. So green. He wanted to see green again but shook his head instead. 

“We could go back to mine?” Potter said, out of breath. “Luna will take Teddy home.”

“No,” Draco said. “No, we can’t.”

“Why not?” 

Draco shook his head again.

“I said, why not, Malfoy?” Potter said. He was demanding an answer, Draco knew. He also knew he needed to be honest. With Potter, and with himself.

“Because!” Draco pushed himself away from the tree. “You left the club, and I kept going.”

“The club?” Harry said, looking confused in the warm sunlight. “You mean Sugarquill?”

Draco felt his fingers curl into a fist. He hated having to be so raw and so open, especially when they had just shared such a tender moment. “It’s not just a club to me, Potter. It’s a lifestyle that makes me happy, and I can’t force someone to be a part of it if they don’t want to be.”

With that, he turned, fully expecting to walk out of the zoo and out of Potter’s life. However, right before he reached the barrier, he felt a warm grip on his wrist.

When Draco looked down, he saw Potter’s fingers firmly clasped around him, pressing gently into his Dark Mark. 

“You’ve got it all wrong, you git,” Potter said, and Draco couldn’t help but look at his face. He had expected bewilderment, or even anger. The smile stretched across his face took Draco completely by surprise.

Draco was positive his face was contorted in confusion as Potter continued. “I never left. I just… transferred to another class.”

“To get away from me,” Draco responded blandly.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I was train—”

“Harry! Draco! There you are!” Teddy came bursting through the exhibit with Luna and Rolf on his heels. “You’ll never believe what I saw!”

Potter let go of Draco’s wrist but didn’t break eye contact while he spoke to his godson. “What’d you see, Teddy?” Harry asked, smiling even wider.

“An Occamy! It was as big as a dragon, but then Mr Rolf made it shrink into a tea kettle! You’ve got to come and see it!” Teddy tugged at the sleeve of Potter’s shirt, and finally, he tore his eyes away from Draco. 

“I think we’re interrupting something!” Luna chimed in. “And the zoo is about to close. Almost dinner time, anyway.”

Dinner. _Shit._ Draco cast a Tempus and growled inadvertently at his cursed wand with its cursed time. He was late. And he hadn’t prepared a single thing for his parents’ monthly dinner.

“I must be off.” Draco chanced a glance at Potter. 

“We could go get dinner?” Potter suggested with a shrug.

“We’ll gladly watch Edward,” Rolf interjected.

“So you can have some romantic time!” Luna added cheerfully.

“No, I— I really have to go. Previous plans.” Draco said through gritted teeth. “Owl me, Potter. If you want,” he added, hopefully. “I’d, uh, love to hear about that train.”

Potter grinned, then nodded. Draco gave him a smile before turning and practically running to the nearest Apparition point outside of the zoo.

\---

Draco arrived home just as the sun was beginning to set. Mumbling all of the curse words he knew under his breath, Draco finally gained the courage to open his door, only to walk right into his parents bickering over an empty table.

“Draco, where have you been?” his father bellowed, standing up from his chair. “It’s extremely inconsiderate to be late, especially when you’re the host.” His glare cut into Draco before he could even shut his front door behind him.

“Are you hurt?” his mother asked, and while the question sounded like she was concerned, he instead could feel her eyes scanning his frumpled shirt, his rolled-up sleeves, his tight, black trousers. “Did you really go out in public like that?”

Draco opened his mouth, ready to apologise for his tardiness and his clothing choices and the empty table in front of them. He braced himself for the shattering of glass, or the splintering of wood exposing his anxiety that was surely to come.

He could feel it, buzzing right below his skin, waiting to ignite with just the tiniest of sparks, but Draco didn’t want that. He didn’t want to combust. Instead, he closed his eyes.

 _Three,_ he exhaled and listened. The wind blowing against the door, his mother’s heel as she tapped her foot, the whir of his refrigerator. _Two_ was easier. The cold brass knob still clutched in his hand, the black button at his collar. _One_. One made his heart ache. 

Honey. He could still smell honey. 

He opened his eyes, feeling calmer and more sure of himself than he had in so long. With a steady voice, Draco looked at his parents.

“We have two choices. One, I order takeaway and we have a lovely evening over Chinese dumplings, or two, you both leave.”

“Leave?” Draco’s father barked. “This is the fourth Sunday, Draco Malfoy, and we are your parents! As such, we demand—”

“No demands,” Draco shook his head vigorously. “No orders or stipulations. I am providing an option to salvage our evening or to end it. The choice is yours.”

He countered his mother’s grimace with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change before eating. If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll take that as your decision.” 

With that, Draco walked into his bedroom and threw himself across his cardigan-covered sheets, not knowing if he’d rather walk back into company or into an empty kitchen. He yanked off his button down and stepped out of his trousers, choosing instead to replace them with a comfortable cotton jersey from Hogwarts, that proudly reads _Seeker_ across the back, and an old pair of joggers. The combination would make his father cringe, and he grinned as he walked out of his bedroom.

His smile immediately left his face, when he noticed the dining room was empty, cold and dark. Both of his parents were gone, disappearing as quickly as a flicker of fire in his Floo.

Draco slumped into the closest chair, trying to process that his flat was vacant of family. That his father and mother had chosen to leave in the brief time he was away, and whether they’d be returning in four more Sundays or not. 

He half-expected his heart to race, his magic to flair. He closed his eyes, anticipating that he’d have to start counting down. The sound of his shoes, angrily tapping on the hardwood floor. A door slamming shut in the next flat over. Tap, tap, tap of an owl’s beak against his window.

Draco’s eyes snapped open and they flitted over to the closest window. There, a large barn owl hovered, peering through the frosted glass.

He stood and opened the window, allowing the bird in. The owl didn’t waste time, dropping the letter on his oak table top before flying back into the dark evening sky.

Draco unrolled the parchment, his heart beating in his chest. Was it from his mother? Apologizing for their sudden departure? Was it from his boss, asking him that his potion was a catastrophe and he shouldn’t return to work?

The last thing he expected to read was:

_Malfoy,_

_Hope your dinner went alright. Up for an after-dinner fly?_

_Meet me at the lamppost if so. 9pm._

_Harry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to EvA-Eleanor and Malenkayacherepakha for your consistent cheering and betaing!!! All the hearts, friends!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds that calling Harry outside of the club suits him just fine.

Draco stared at the letter, and then again at the empty room. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t because his parents were no longer there; it was because of the parchment in his hands, with the date and the place and the signature;  _ Harry. _

He hadn’t ever considered Potter as a  _ Harry _ . Of course, he knew that was his name, having heard it so many times over the years, and growing up wishing, knowing that surely  _ he _ would be friends with the famous Chosen One. 

When that didn’t happen, which, looking back, he knew was because he royally screwed up, Harry turned to Potter. Poncy Potter with his horrid hair and his horrid clothes and his horrid friends.

Now, as he stared at the stiffness of the letters, the sharp angles, Draco’s softened thoughts came into view. 

“Harry,” he let the name roll off his tongue. He considered the feel, the way his lips almost pressed together at the R’s. How his lips had felt pressed against Potter’s, his body pressing him against the tree. How good it felt to finally,  _ finally _ kiss him.

Draco glanced at a cast Tempus, and then at his empty kitchen. There was no food to go cold, no parents to make him cold. Instead, Draco could only feel warmth, a tingle across his lips and across his palms, remembering the feeling of Potter’s wrists gripped tight, and the hot span of skin right below his shirt. The way Potter moaned into his mouth, the throbbing of his cock against Draco’s thigh.

He knew he had time for a long-thought-out fantasy. Draco could crawl under his sheets, or maybe venture to the tub, fill it with scalding water and remember the heat in Potter’s eyes, the warmth of his skin, the sun beating down on his shoulders as the Golden Snidgets fluttered by. He could pull, and tug, and imagine that Potter was on his knees, mouth wide and waiting for Draco to fill it with his seed. Or plunge into his tight heat, the same way he had watched Neville open Theo up and enter him, thrusting in and out until they both cried with pleasure.

However much pleasure Draco would receive from his certain orgasm, he also was fearful the heat would subside, changing from boiling to barely a flicker. And Draco wasn’t ready to extinguish the flames just yet.

Instead, he tried to imagine what their next date would be like. If they’d fly. If he’d try and call him Harry.

Draco made himself comfortable on his sofa, palming his half-hard cock lightly through his trousers. He could feel the heat of it, the dull throb, the excitement building in his groin, but he didn’t dare do more than just tease himself. Knowing for sure his flat was empty, Draco began to speak aloud.

“Did you have a good day at work, Potter?” Draco said and then winced. The niceties of the words, paired with the bite he normally gave to Potter’s surname didn’t match in his head. Draco tried again.

“How was your Auror meeting, Harry?” It sounded better, but still not as comfortable as Draco would have liked. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Draco couldn’t give a shite about Potter’s day.  _ No _ , he shook his head. Maybe he didn’t care about the Aurors.

“Fancy a midnight fly, Harry?” Draco said one more time to his empty room. He softly smiled to himself. That sounded nice. A midnight fly with Harry. Perhaps another fly in the morning, if he woke up with Harry in his arms.

Perhaps he  _ could  _ call Potter, Harry. He tried one more line, even though he knew his next statement would be pointless. That he’d never say it out loud no matter the choice of name.

“Get on your knees and suck my cock, Harry.”

Draco grimaced. Gods, that sounded awful. He shook his head and tried again.

“Get on your knees and open your fucking mouth, Potter.” 

Yes. Yes, that was it. Draco felt his cock twitch under his palm and he couldn’t help but give himself a pleasurable stroke, and then one more as a reward. The relief of his touch made him almost giddy as he continued to spew words as he sped up his grip.

“Swallow it, Potter. Take me all the way down your gorgeous throat.” His hand palmed his throbbing need as he thought about sliding into the wet heat of Potter’s mouth, of watching his eyes bulge as he stared up at Draco feeding him his cock. 

Draco forced his hand to pause, not wanting to spill the heat within him. Not before their date, and at least this time he was certain about that. This was an official date. 

He knew he couldn’t have both. He couldn’t have Harry  _ and _ Potter. He couldn’t have Harry, the specky git he had held hands with as they stared at the Snidgets, and also have  _ Potter _ , gripping the edge of his clawfoot tub as Draco commanded him not to come, not yet. 

The minutes crawled by and Draco busied himself with cleaning. Before the Tempus struck 8:30 he had already Scourgified the toilets, made his bed and organised all of the tops in his wardrobe from most decadent to least. Then he reorganised by colour, placing his crisp white shirt right in front.

He knew if he continued his journey with Potter he wouldn’t be able to wear it again. He’d have to place it into a box with his black six-button vest and renounce it to the back of his wardrobe to gather dust.

Draco had a feeling Harry could be worth it, though. That having half of his heart fulfilled was better than having none. So he pulled the items from their hangers and cast them to the side before tugging a charcoal jumper over his head. 

He still had twenty minutes to kill, so Draco opted to walk to  _ Sugarquill  _ instead of Apparating to the nearest spot. The wind whipped around him, cooling his heated skin, heightening the vibrations he felt coursing just beneath the surface. He was excited to see what the evening would hold for him. For them. 

His stride must have been longer than usual because he arrived at the club with ten minutes to spare. He was surprised to see that Harry was also there, leaning against the lamppost, broom in hand. His thin, grey, long-sleeve shirt and light-washed jeans looked worn and comfortable, perfect for a night of flying, and the warm smile that spread across his face made Draco’s heart beat with excitement. 

“How was dinner?” he asked as Draco approached, and Draco could see he was bouncing on his toes. He hoped Harry was just as excited about seeing him as he was.

Draco shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the night’s earlier events. He’d process his parents early departure and the box of discarded clothing tomorrow. Instead, he walked right up to Harry, until they were so close the toes of their trainers touched.

“Thank you for the owl,” Draco said, the scent of honey heavy in the air. He leaned forward instinctively, wanting to breathe in the sweet smell that always surrounded Harry, and he found himself just a hair's breadth away from his plump, beautiful lips. 

Draco’s eyes flickered up to meet Harry’s green, and all he saw was softness, warmth, interest. Quickly, before he could overanalyse anything, Draco closed the gap and gently pressed his lips to Potter’s own. 

The kiss was chaste and quick, and so soft that Draco wished he could sink into it, like a warm bathtub of their limbs and lust. Instead, he leaned back and looked down at the object in Harry’s hand.

“Only one broom?” Draco quirked his eyebrow in mock surprise.

“We shared it just fine, last time,” Harry grinned, but his smile quickly faltered. “I mean… I don’t… with Crabbe - fuck, sorry, I didn’t—”

Draco placed a calming hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We all lost friends that day, Harry.”

Harry nodded, then looked at Draco with such seriousness. “You… you called me Harry.”

It sounded like a question, more than a statement. Draco could only concur with a nod of his head.

“That’s… “ Harry started to say, then looked at the lamppost. “I want to show you something, before we fly,” he continued. “Is that okay?”

“Inside the club?”

“Yes.” 

“But you quit.” Draco remembered it clearly, showing up to the next class with a clear absence of Potter.

“I quit the class,” Potter said, his smile bright, “but I didn’t quit the club.”

Draco stared, dumbfounded, until Harry grabbed his hand and threaded his fingers through his own, before tapping the correct combination into the seemingly standard lamppost like a practiced pro. 

“Come on,” Potter tugged on their joined hands, leading them down the stairway and into the dim light of the club.

Draco followed him, relishing in the feel of Potter’s hand in his for the second time that day. He waved hello to Oli as they passed their desk, winding their way further into the club they were standing directly in front of Room Two. 

It was the same room he had peered into as Neville had his way with his teddy bear, Theo, but the inside looked quite different. Instead of the large bed with a footstool bench, Draco could only see a chair, wooden and sturdy in the middle of the room. 

Potter squeezed his hand. “I had to quit your class, you see.” 

He tilted his head towards the room, and they both watched as Neville appeared through another door in the back. He was wearing a green top that looked so soft Draco would have assumed it was made of moss itself. His trousers were made of dark blue denim and sat tight across his thighs. They both watched as Neville situated himself in the chair, his hands loose in his lap as he waited for something.

For someone.

“Your class was for Dominants.” Harry paused, and when Draco glanced at him, his eyes were cast to the floor, nervously staring at the laces in his shoes. “I’m… well… at the beginning I thought that I was. That I should want to be in charge.”

Draco’s heart caught in his chest. It reminded him of what Neville had said at the beginning of all this. That being a Dominant didn’t make you strong, and being a Submissive didn’t make you weak. It’s the balance of the two. They take care of each other.

He squeezed Harry’s hand, hoping he’d continue. He gave Draco a tense smile in return.

“I’m Head Auror. I should be giving orders, not receiving them. Not begging to be bossed around, or tied up, or spanked like an insolent child.” Harry’s voice was trembling. “I shouldn’t crave being used.”

Draco’s mind was racing with something to say, some way to comfort Harry. He wanted to pull him into his arms and rub his back the way his mother used to when he was sick. He wanted to cup Harry’s chin and tell him that it was alright, that everything would be alright.

But all his mind could do was focus on those words spilling from Potter’s throat in confession. Begging, wanting to be tied up. Wanting to be  _ spanked. _ His mouth opened as he tried to formulate words, but before he could, Harry spoke again.

“I didn’t leave the club. I switched.” Potter pulled his head up, no longer staring at the ground. He turned to Draco and smiled softly. “I’m a Submissive, Malfoy. And if you don’t mind sticking around, I’d love to show you what I’ve learned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to show the idea that a dom does not have to be 'on' all of the time. That we have a separation from everyday life, and sometimes that separation can be shown by just calling someone a different name, or wearing different clothes, or putting your hair up in a different way. Just like a submissive, a dom needs the chance to step into the right headspace. 
> 
> I have literally been waiting since last October to share the next chapter with you. Stay tuned until next Monday!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco watches what Harry has learned.

“I’d love to show you what I’ve learned.”

With that, Potter turned and walked away from a stunned Draco, right into the doorway etched with a large two.  He stopped right inside the doorway and kneeled.

Draco could only watch, his mouth hanging open as Neville stood and approached Potter like a lion would to his prey. His strides were confident, and when he finally reached the kneeling man, he began to speak.

“You’ve requested to be punished tonight. Is that true?” Neville asked, his voice strong and gruff, and even through the glass, Draco could feel the power of it. 

“Yes, Sir,” Potter answered, his head bowed so his words echoed against the hard concrete of the ground. 

“Because you’ve been bad?” 

“No, Sir.”

“Because you’ve been good,” Neville nodded with his statement. 

“Yes, Sir.” Draco could see Potter shudder as he said those words, his skin practically vibrating under the thin cotton of his grey shirt.

“I see you’ve brought an observer.” Neville looked at Draco through the glass and gave him a friendly wink. “Did you tell him everything?”

“Yes,” Potter started but hesitated. He closed his eyes. “No, Sir, not everything.”

“I see.” Neville frowned a bit, his eyes still locked with Draco. “What did you share?”

“That I was training to be a Submissive.” Potter’s answer was quick and concise, but Neville paused as if he was hoping for more. 

“And?” he finally spoke, pausing again for Potter to continue. When his lips only tightened further together, Neville nodded. “Very well then. Position Two.”

Potter licked his lips before pressing his palms to the concrete and pushing himself into a standing position. He stood with his feet spread apart, his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back. Potter’s head still pointed down, his stare never leaving the floor.

“Good boy,” Neville said as he began to circle Potter. When he was fully behind him, Neville ran his finger down Potter’s spine, and Draco watched as his shoulder blades shifted under his touch. “I will give you the reward you deserve, but only by half. Take that as motivation to complete your task.” Neville moved his hands to Potter’s hips, tracing the hem until he reached the front of Potter’s trousers. He undid the button and the zip, before tugging the denim down to Potter’s knees. 

Draco’s cock twitched when he realised Potter wasn’t wearing pants, his bare arse exposed and clenching in sure anticipation as it was exposed to the cold room. Draco wished he could see his cock, wished he could be in the room and standing in front of him like Neville now was, admiring his starkness, seeing if he was growing hard and trembling, thinking of what was to come. 

What Draco hoped was coming, at least.

Neville ran his hands under Potter’s shirt, pinching his nipples hard before pulling back out. He didn’t discard the fabric like he did the trousers; instead, Neville left Potter’s grey shirt stretched across his chest, so tight Draco could see his pebbled nubs. He thought for a moment how it would feel to run his tongue over each of them, to pull them into his mouth and between his teeth, to nibble on them until Potter whined.

In three broad strides, Neville made his way to his chair and sat, his thighs spread and his back leaning casually against the wood frame. As if he were about to read the _ Daily Prophet _ , and not issue some type of sexual reward.

“Over my knee,” Neville said, pointing to his denim-covered thighs. It was happening, the thing Draco thought might be, but he didn’t want to hope for. Potter was asking to be spanked, not as a punishment, but as a reward. A reward for telling Draco that he wanted this.

_ He wants this. _

All the fear Draco had felt all day, over the past week, the past month, when he’d thought of Potter, on his knees, in the tub, bent over on all fours and at his mercy, were now a possibility. 

His cock throbbed as Draco watched Potter walk up to the chair and gracefully bend himself over Neville’s knees, his hands still gripped behind his back as he settled between Neville’s thighs. He saw the briefest glimpse of Potter’s cock, long and hard and red at the tip, before it was masked between the blue denim of Neville’s trousers.

“I’m going to spank you now,” Neville spoke while his hands ran across Potter’s arse, plump and exposed and contracting under Neville’s touch. “Twenty hits with my palm.”

Potter groaned, but the sound caught in his throat almost as quickly as it was released.

Neville chuckled, squeezing Potter’s arsecheek as he spoke. “I want you to be as vocal as possible for your friend.” He ran his hand under Potter’s shirt, up his spine until his hand cupped the back of his neck. 

“Y-” Potter began to speak when Neville smacked his arse with his other palm, the sound vibrating around the room straight to Draco’s cock. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do you like this?” Neville asked, his hand cracking against Potter once more. “The heat of my palm on your skin?”

“Yes,” Potter said, his breath hitching as he spoke.

_ Crack _ . “Does it hurt?” Neville asked in between his hand crashing into Potter, and pulling back to deliver another.  _ Smack. _

“Fuck,” Potter gasped. “Yes, it hurts.”

Neville delivered another blow, and Potter let out a tiny whine. “We push through the first few, don’t we,” he said, pausing to rub Potter’s reddening skin. “Place your hands on the floor, that might help.”

Potter instantly released his hands from their grip along his back and dropped them to the floor, pressing his fingertips into the concrete as if begging for purchase. Neville pulled his arm back again, delivering a hard  _ Whack! _ that Draco felt deep in his stomach. 

His hand went instantly to his cock, palming his now throbbing member as he watched Potter’s skin turn from olive to a beautiful blush of red. Neville continued to bring his hand downward, brightening Potter’s skin with each blow. 

“How many am I on?” Neville asked, pausing to quickly run his hands up and down Potter’s sides. 

“Ten,” Potter said breathily, and Draco admired the sheen of sweat across his forehead, the way his calves were tense and bulging as he pushed up on his toes, arching his back.

Arching for more.

“Can you feel it?” Neville asked, delivering another strike.  _ Eleven, _ Draco added in his head, as his hand delved beneath the hem of his trousers, reaching for his aching cock. “Your endorphins kicking in, coursing just under your skin, right along with your magic?”

“Yes,” Potter cried out, his body arching further into Neville’s. One hand left the concrete, reaching above his chest until his fingers were curled into the soft moss-coloured fabric of Neville’s top. 

“Does it feel good?”  _ Smack _ .

“Fuck,” Potter gasped. 

“I asked you a question. Does it feel good?”  _ Crack. _

“Fu— yes, it hurts, it,”  _ Whap.  _ “It stings, it, _ hasi _ _ ʃine _ , please,” Potter whined, his toes pointing as he rutted in Neville’s lap, his hands grasping at the nape of Neville’s top, green threaded between his fingers. “Please,  _ more _ .”

Draco was so lost in the vision of Potter across Neville’s thighs that he didn’t even notice he was rapidly tugging along his length until he felt his cock throb, felt the path of his palm become smoother with his precome. He muttered to himself as he continued to watch, wide-eyed, as Neville’s palm crashed again on Potter’s tender flesh. 

“Do you want  _ him _ to know how much you like this?” Neville grinned. Draco diverted his eyes from Potter’s plump, reddened arse and gasped when he saw Neville’s eyes directed at him, even as his hand delivered another wallop. “Tell him,” he encouraged Potter, while grinning ferociously at Draco.

Potter groaned as another crash landed across his backside. “I like it, fuck,” Potter gasped, his sentence clipped by the force of Neville’s hand. “I want it,  _ sshihssi _ _ ʃian _ , Malfoy, I need this. I need to come.”

Draco groaned, his hand gripping tightly around his cock as he heard Potter’s pleas, his hissing of pleasure. As he heard him gasp and moan and say  _ his _ name as he was being spanked by Neville’s palm. 

He placed a hand on the glass, fingers splayed, open, exposed, as Potter turned his head from facing the floor to facing the glass. 

“Please, Malfoy, please let me come.”  _ Smack. _

“Come,” Draco cried, not sure if Potter could hear him over the crashes to his backside, through the pane of glass. “Come,” he cried, as he spilled over his own fist, which had been rapidly gaining speed since Potter looked at him. Since Potter begged. 

“Come,” he heard Neville repeat as Draco worked himself through his orgasm, Neville’s eyes dropping from Draco to the boy in his lap as he delivered one more smack across his backside. His hand quickly dipped into the crevice of Potter’s arse, pressing against his hole, teasing him as Potter rutted desperately against Neville’s thighs. 

“Oh, fuck,” Potter gasped, his hand clutching at Neville’s shirt while the other one clawed at the concrete floor. His body shook as his back arched, his legs flexing as he came. Draco watched, his entire body tingling, as Potter’s eyes fluttered closed moments before the white seed of his pleasure coated the floor.

“Good boy,” Neville praised, his hands running up and down Potter’s back, his thighs, until he was massaging his calves. His hands didn’t touch the red skin stretched across his arse, the most sensitive part of Potter. 

“Stand,” Neville instructed, his hands secure on Potter’s hips as he helped him rise, guiding him until his feet were flat on the floor and his shirt dropped low against his waist. Potter instinctively rubbed his hands against his sore arse, looking curiously at Neville as he did so.

“I’d offer you balm,” Neville said, answering the unasked question, “but a sore bottom is your punishment for not following through.”

“But,” Potter opened his mouth, and then quickly closed it after receiving a stern look. 

“Perhaps flying with a bruised arse will motivate you to share,” Neville said, nodding his head towards Draco, who was still standing, gasping, with his hand embarrassingly down his trousers. “Yes?” Neville prompted.

Potter bowed his head, and Draco could see a slight burning in his cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Neville grinned. “Now enjoy your date.” He looked at Draco with a large smile. “Both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this chap as much as I enjoyed writing it! Only 6 chaps left, can you believe it? Thank you all for coming along on this ride with me!
> 
> \- UPDATE: Hi all! I know, I haven't posted in a few weeks! I am working on the final six so I can make sure they're as great as you deserve them to be. I'll start posting again on Sept 1, and I appreciate all of your patience until then! 
> 
> If you want, I'd love if you checked out my other works while we wait!
> 
> Dom Draco/Sub Harry (fluff & smut): [Have Yourself a Kinky Little Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979649/chapters/39909513)
> 
> Dom Draco/Sub Harry (angry sex): [I Just Want to be Fucking, Happy?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583825/chapters/44055223)
> 
> Harry/Draco/Neville (triad fluff): [Small Comforts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584707)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience while I finish out the rest of this story! I really appreciate all of you for reading along, and for enjoying it as much as I've enjoyed writing! Thank you all for your kind words.

Harry left the room, his head still bowed and his cheeks still flushed. Even though Draco was only steps away, time seemed to move in slow motion as he watched Harry approach.

He took in everything during that moment: the red burning on Harry’s cheeks; his tousled hair from where it had previously dangled close to the floor; the way he shuffled, as if walking was slightly painful in his soft jeans. 

It sent an electric shock through Draco when he thought of that; how Potter had just been strewn over Longbottom’s knee. How hungry he was for it. How beautifully he begged. 

Even though he had just come, Draco’s cock throbbed when he thought about what he had just seen. What he had just heard. Potter calling out his name, asking for permission. Asking Draco to take the reins on his climax. 

He had wanted to. For so many nights now, Draco had thought and wanked and dreamed of Potter asking, Potter and his parseltongue imploring him for exactly what he had just witnessed. 

And now, finally, he was standing in front of Draco, his shirt soft and tight around his chest, his denims worn, especially about the knees. Draco had to lean against the glass wall, as the implications of what that meant.

Potter on his knees. Potter aching, itching, longing, to be on his knees.

He wanted to do so many things. He wanted to put his hands on Potter’s shoulders, and his chest, and his arse, and drag him up against a wall, and taste him and strip him and put him on his knees or in cuffs or ropes or velvet or nothing and spend the rest of the day, the week, his life admiring Potter’s naked flesh and tasting his lips and staring into his eyes.

Instead, as Harry approached, Draco just croaked out, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Harry mumbled, the blush on his cheeks darkening further. His gaze was still cast to the floor and it wasn’t until Draco pushed his chin up with his forefinger that Harry finally looked at him.

“Hi,” Draco repeated, a soft smile forming on his face when Harry’s eyes locked onto his own. They stood like that for a moment, Draco taking him in, this stripped down, bared version of Potter, and it seemed that Potter was doing the same to him. Taking him in, looking for something. Acceptance. Interest. Lust.

Draco hoped he was showing all of those emotions as he let his eyes graze down Potter’s form, before pausing again to look him deep in the eyes.

Harry looked so adorably shy when he finally spoke. “Do you still fancy a fly? Now that you know I’m…” his words trailed off and even though Draco still held his chin squarely between his fingers, Potter’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Draco couldn’t help it. He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss to the cupid's bow of Potter’s lips. “Now that I know you’re a desperate little slut?” 

Potter nodded, blushing further.

“I want to do everything with you,” Draco said against Potter’s lips. It was true, truer than anything he had admitted out loud in so long. His body shivered with how raw and exposed and delighted he felt in that moment. However, he also knew he needed to be patient. Good things come to those who wait. “But first I need you to eat something,” he said, pulling back so he could stare at Potter’s face. 

Eventually, green eyes met his own, and he saw a smile stretch across Harry’s face. “Sounds good, where do you want to go?”

\---

Grabbing a juice from Oli at the front, Draco pulled Harry into the cool outdoor air and then tugged him close to his chest. He leaned down, and pressed his lips to Harry’s own, relishing in how quickly they softened and opened to his touch. He felt invincible at that moment, like he could accomplish anything, as he held Harry in his arms.

He only let the kiss continue for a moment, however. He wished he could have kissed Harry for the rest of the night, listen to his little moans and feel the ways his hips kept hitching to meet Draco’s own, but he also needed to provide the aftercare a scene like that required. He needed to get some food into Harry’s belly, and they needed to talk. Really talk.

Regretfully separating their lips, Draco Accioed Harry’s broom and shrunk it until it fit into the pocket of his trousers. He kept Harry tight in his arms as he twisted them away into apparition. 

When they appeared in the alley behind Wetherspoons, Harry chuckled. “How did you find this place?” he asked with curiosity.

“Neville brought me,” Draco said. “Guess you’ve been here?”

“Loads of times,” Harry nodded. “Nev knew it was the only place open late enough with a decent burger.”

Draco felt something stir in his belly, but he wasn’t quite sure why as he held the door open for Harry and escorted him inside the restaurant. 

After grabbing drinks and placing a quick food order at the bar, they settled in a booth in the back, tucked away from the rest of the night crowd, and Draco was relieved. Not because he was worried someone would see him this time, but because he was anxious about someone overhearing their discussion.

Draco cast a series of distracting and noise dampening charms around their space. Harry arched an eyebrow at him, but Draco just smiled. 

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to know. After all, it’d been years since he and Harry had engaged in a full-on conversation, not that Draco could recall any deep discussions at Hogwarts either. They had hated each other, been pinned against each other for so long, that there had never been any room for real friendship.

Now, he had the opportunity to learn all about the man in front of him. His likes, his dislikes, his favourite colour and flower and memory and… Draco gulped as he realised he could learn all about Harry’s kinks. What made him happy. What made him  _ hard. _

For some reason, though, one question weaseled its way to the top. “You and Neville are close, then?” He knew that was silly to ask. Of course they were close. They were both Gryffindors. Longbottom was part of that Army they were all in. He fought in the war and cut the head off that snake and stood up when Harry was...when Harry was de-

“Yes,” Harry said, suddenly serious. When Draco snapped his head to look at him, he noticed how straight Harry’s back was, how he was wringing his hands together. He was nervous. But why? 

Draco held himself still, wondering, waiting for Harry to continue. It took a few moments, but finally Harry opened his mouth again.

“This would be easier with Veritaserum,” he said simply, before slumping his shoulders.

Draco knew that feeling. How the last time he was at Wetherspoons, he had taken the potion hidden in Neville’s robes. How he had taken the easy way out.

“Some things in life are hard,” Draco said with a knowing nod. The past weeks had been anything but easy. He had discovered so much about himself, about his wants and his needs, and it had been worth every step if they brought him here, to this booth. To Harry.

Still, he knew Harry might need something more; the safety net, or maybe even a bit of trust, before he could shed his exterior skin and bare himself to Draco. Perhaps if he bared a piece of himself first.

“Would you like to know how I connected with Neville, first?” Draco asked Harry. “After all, I never ran in your pack.”

“Sure,” Harry grinned, and Draco could see the relief radiating across his face and softening his shoulders.

If Draco had thought he’d have any hesitancy revealing any aspect of himself, it was instantly washed away in Harry’s grin. As if telling Harry all of his secrets was his own private kink; a kink of confession. Of trust.

“Pansy, of course,” Draco grinned, thinking of the ridiculous conversation he had with her weeks ago, about gloves and leather and how Neville spent his nights. “I was having a bit of a problem regulating my magic.”

“You?” Harry said with a wave of surprise. “But you always seem so precise, so in control. Back in school, the way you moved your wand…” Harry drifted off, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“I was never in control,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I either had my father, or my mother, or Snape in my ear.” He paused, remembering the letters he would receive from home, criticising his grades, his performance, even his friendships. All which had been reported back by his extremely observant Godfather. 

“Later, the Dark Lord demanded, controlled my every move.” He closed his eyes, trying to rid the face that appeared in his mind. “I couldn’t do anything to change it, lest risk my family being hurt.” He opened his eyes then, and stared at Harry before he revealed his hidden truth. “Turned out it didn’t matter after all; no matter how hard I tried, my parents didn’t love me. Not like I needed them to.”

“Your father adores you,” Harry said. “He was always standing up for you, and bringing you to the station, and-”

“And demanding I don’t let him down, and I meet his expectations, and I follow his ruling no matter what.”

Harry’s gaze turned sad. “I thought you were always a spoiled git.”

Draco scoffed. “I suppose I never wanted for anything, except for my parents unconditional love.”

Harry nodded. “The Dursleys never loved me, but I also never expected them to.”

“Your parents loved you,” Draco said with confidence.

“I know,” Harry agreed, and then sighed. “I just wish I could remember it.”

Draco wanted to pull Harry into a hug, hold him tight and make all of the pain go away. He wanted Harry to not go one more day without feeling loved, and adored, and worshipped. 

Instead, he continued to reveal his truth.

“Pansy thought elements of BDSM would help me feel in control again. Help me regain control of my magic. That’s why I was in class that day.”

That first class was still so sharp in his mind; trying to grasp everything that the lifestyle entailed, and then seeing Potter, after so many years. The flare of challenge, of letting such dirty thoughts reveal themselves after being contained for so long. 

“Did it help?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco said without hesitation. “I feel more confident. I’ve done better at work.” He paused, and then smiled. “It brought me here, with you.”

Harry blushed. “Neville thought the same thing about me, you know?” 

No, Draco did not know. Draco had no earthly idea what brought Harry to the club. He waited patiently, hoping Harry would share that bit about himself.

Blessedly, Harry continued. “He thought I would make a good Dom. That I craved control after years of following orders.”

Draco wanted to shake his head, tell Harry that he was the leader of the lions, the Chosen One for Merlin’s sake. That he had seen him in class, defy professors, break rules. That he never once saw him follow orders. Instead he kept his mouth shut, only arching his eyebrow in surprise.

“Dumbledore had plans for me. From the second he dropped me off on my Aunt’s doorstep, he’d been in control.” Harry’s eyes went dark, as if remembering something horrid. He shook his head vigorously, before continuing. 

“After the war, I- I couldn’t sleep. The memories of that day, all of those deaths, friends gone, Sirius, and Lupin and,” he paused, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Death.”

Harry paused, as if waiting for Draco to interject, but Draco’s lips stayed pursed. He could tell how hard it was for Harry to expose himself, his weaknesses like this. He wanted to say something, anything, to make the pain less, but he also wanted Harry to continue uninterrupted.

“So I started off as a Dom,” Harry continued after a beat. “I tried to take control. I tried to wield my words, and my power, and my magic to command the room, to command Neville, but I just-”

Suddenly, Draco found himself unable to stay quiet. “Command Neville?” he spluttered as a conversation he had before coming to this very pub rushed back to him.

Harry nodded, and spoke his next words carefully. “Neville was my first love. And I was his Dominant.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry continue their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Draco has a bit of anxiety through most of this. 
> 
> On a side note, OMG I was so tickled to see the reaction from everyone on the last chap! I thought I put SO MANY SPOILERS in there about it, and to see everyone so surprised was AMAZING!!! Thank you ALL for reading along, your comments get me through the week, and I really appreciate your patience while I post these last few chaps. They're all written, so it should be a smooth posting going forward, every two weeks on Monday. 
> 
> I will say, that 25 chaps is a lot to write, but is not simply long enough for me. That being said, I went ahead and created a Series for this, so if you want to find out this groups next round of adventures, please subscribe to the Series (or if you're feeling frisky, to me as an author!)
> 
> Thanks to Malenkayacherepakha, EvAEleanor and Thunder of Dragons for your patience throughout this whole story. I would have given up way before this without you all.

Draco knew exactly how to react to difficult news; when he wasn’t picked for the Slytherin Quidditch Team; when he had to fix the Vanishing Cabinet; when he was forced to take the Dark Mark. His shields automatically went up, and he could feel his face set in a blank stare as he internally processed what he heard.

Harry had been a Dominant. Harry had been in a relationship with Neville. He had lost his virginity to Neville, probably, and he had used that word. Love. He had Loved Neville. He had cared for Neville and spanked Neville and whipped Neville and controlled Neville and their unity was probably stronger than his and Draco’s ever could be and they had so much history, too much, more than he and Draco had and they would never be as close as his first love and why should he even try—

Spiraling. Draco could recognise that now. His mind was manifesting half-truths, barely-there ideas of what their relationship had been and is now, and of how that would affect his and Harry’s future. 

If there was a future.

How could there be one, when Neville was so _ Good _ , so soft and kind and gentle and commanding and—

Draco made himself pause. He made himself listen.

The chatter right outside of their booth, low and soothing. The ice shifting in his glass as it melted into his whisky. Harry’s nails tapping nervously against the wooden table.

_ Harry _ . He was with Harry now, not Neville. Neville was with Theo. Neville was a Dom. 

And Harry was not. Not anymore.

He focused on relaxing his jaw, then his arms and his legs, which had tensed habitually. He focused on softening his stare until it matched his inward curiosity. Not anger, not jealousy. Curiosity about Harry, the man he wanted to know. And trust. And love.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Draco said, when he was finally confident his voice would sound calm. He flicked his eyes to Harry’s own, and he saw relief spread across Harry’s face.

“Yes,” Harry smiled softly. 

There were so many questions he wanted to immediately ask, but he bit his tongue, trying to give Harry a chance to explain. After Harry took a pull of amber liquid from his beer, he spoke.

“After the war, I moved into Grimmauld Place. I thought it was a good idea, being surrounded by Sirius and memories of the Order. But the place was so big, too big. I hadn’t been alone in so long, and it was too quiet. Ron and Hermione were just starting their relationship, and I needed to give them their space. So Neville moved in.”

Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the table nervously. Draco reached over and squeezed his hand encouragingly, hoping Harry would continue. 

“His room was just down the hall, but it was still too far. Too quiet. I’d have these horrible nightmares, waking up screaming or panicking, and Neville would crawl into bed with me until I fell back asleep.” He looked at Draco, concern heavy in his eyes. “One night he didn’t wait for me to cry out in my sleep. He just went to my room instead of his at the end of the night. And things just...happened.”

Draco wanted to nod, as if he knew what that meant. How things could just happen. How easy some people just fell into relationships, instead of plotting out each specific moment, stressing about every single thing.

As if he didn’t have a million questions about who touched who first, or where they had their first kiss and if Harry fucked Neville into the sheets, or if Neville sucked his cock in the shower while the water drenched their backs and Harry’s hair stuck to his neck as he cried out in ecstasy. 

“Neville had heard about the lifestyle through some Mind Healers he knew,” Harry continued. “He was always at the Janus Thickey Ward visiting his parents, and a few thought it might be...helpful considering what we had all been through.”

Draco bit his lip, hating the reminder of what his aunt had done; even though Alice & Frank Longbottom were fully recovered, it still sat heavy in his chest.

Harry’s gaze dropped to his mouth as he spoke. “When we went to the club that first night, the instructor naturally assumed I’d be a Dominant. The great Harry Potter on his knees? Absolutely not.” Harry chuckled, but his eyes were dark. “And Neville, well, he’s naturally so kind and thoughtful. He fell easily into the Submissive role.”

His eyes dropped from Draco’s mouth to the brown bottle in his hands. “We didn’t question it. And for a while, it worked. I was sleeping better, and Neville was taking care of me.”

Harry paused, before downing the rest of his beer. He swallowed, his gaze still fixed on the tabletop. Draco waited, trying to be patient, but his knee kept bouncing on the chair and he kept his lips tightly pursed, forcing himself not to ask any questions. Not until it was time.

“The nightmares came back,” Harry eventually revealed, “and I felt so helpless.” He paused, clicking his fingernails on his empty beer bottle. “One night, I had a whip in my hand and Neville on his knees, and...I realised I didn’t want it.”

“Want what?” Draco couldn’t help but blurt it out. His heart was pounding, his mind was swimming, and he needed to know. He wanted to know everything.

Harry smiled softly. “I'm good at being in charge when it’s expected of me. But that doesn't mean I would choose it.”

Draco closed his eyes and took a breath. As long as he had known Harry, it seemed as if Harry was a leader of a ferocious lion pack. Draco had been in charge of his own, his friends pinned to his heels, waiting for instruction, and a part of Draco had enjoyed that. He had also been raised that way, not shoved into that position because of the scar on his forehead. For Harry, it had been thrust upon him, not a path he wanted to walk down. 

He picked his next words carefully. “What would you choose, then, Harry? What do you really want?”

Harry’s smile widened into a grin. “I’d love to tell you, but I could use another drink first.”

Draco licked his lips, and picked up his own glass, downing the amber liquid. “One more whisky, neat, and whatever disgusting beer you’re drinking.”

“Doom Bar, please,” Harry said with a smile, “and it’s not disgusting. It’s refreshing.”

“It’s basically fermented water.”

“Which is why it’s so delicious,” Harry laughed. “You think your mashed barley is that much better?” 

Draco smirked before heading to the bar and collecting their next round. When he sat back down, he stared haughtily at Harry. “Correction,” he said, straightening himself in his seat. “It’s  _ matured _ mashed barley, and it requires a refined palate.” Draco smirked. “You wouldn’t understand; you’re too young.”

“By two months!” Harry said incredulously. “You’re only older by three fucking months, Malfoy.”

“Draco.”

“What?”

Draco paused, taking a deep breath. “Outside of play, I’d like to call you Harry,” he said, looking deep into Harry’s eyes, “and I’d like you to call me Draco.”

Harry took a big swig of his beer before responding. “So Draco outside of playtime, and...what about inside?”

Any other time, Draco would have assumed that question would sound flirtatious, sexy even. Talking about names and kinks and other things they could do to each other within the safety of the club walls. 

But Harry looked nervous. 

“What do you want to call me?” Draco asked. He knew what was traditional. Master. Sir. And in return, boy. He wasn’t sure he wanted to call his Submissive ‘boy,’ but he would if that’s what they preferred. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said, his eyes darkening. “I’ve had to use Sir too many times, with too many people I should have been able to trust. My own Uncle made me call him ‘Sir.’ I called Dumbledore ‘Sir.’” He paused. 

“Not Snape, though,” Draco thought out loud, remembering Harry’s quip so many years ago. 

“Turns out he was one of the only people I could trust.” 

Draco wanted to nod in agreement, but as carefully as Snape had watched him in school, it was never out of protection. He was a spy, through and through, reporting Death Eater movements to Dumbledore, and Draco’s own childish fuckups to his father. Instead, Draco picked up his glass and took a sip, giving his body something to do instead.

Harry didn’t seem to notice his hesitancy to agree, and continued to speak. “At work, everyone calls me ‘Sir.’ Mr Potter, Sir, Head Auror. I don’t do anything except show my face, lend my voice.”

“You don’t go out into the field? On missions?” Draco couldn’t help but feel confused. He’d seen several headlines mentioning Harry and his many captures.

Harry shook his head. “Hermione says I have PTSD. Common with soldiers who have been in the trenches, but I never really felt like I went to war.” He shrugged. 

Draco instantly dropped his cup to the table. “You were the Chosen One. How did you not feel like it was war?”

Harry barely shrugged his shoulders. “At first, it felt like a game. The Sorcerer’s Stone was just a myriad of challenges we had to get through—” He took a swig from the bottle— “and the snake in the chamber didn’t want me. It wanted Hermione, or Ginny. Even at the end, it was Neville that killed Nagini. Not me.”

He paused, picking at his nails. “I was sent on a mission, but I wasn’t in the trenches like Nev, or Gin, or even you. I was in the woods. I was starving, but that wasn’t new. I was lonely, but that wasn’t new either.”

Draco, again, had an overwhelming need to hug Harry, to pull him into his arms and wipe away all of the bad memories he had. Instead, he sat and he listened, keeping his jaw slack and his fists unclenched, despite the anger that was thrumming under his skin.

“And then I was told to die.” Harry said it like he was reciting Quidditch stats and not talking about his own mortality. He hesitated then, opening and closing his mouth as if he wasn’t sure he wanted his next words to come out.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco said, finally relenting to his instincts and placing a hand on Harry’s knee. “You can say it, whatever you want to say.” He swallowed. “I’m here to catch you if you need to fall.”

Harry looked at him then, so differently than he had before. His eyes were wide, deep and sparkling and more open than Draco had ever seen. 

He trembled slightly as he spoke. “I couldn’t fight it, and I didn’t want to. Relinquishing myself to die was the best I had ever felt.”

_ Merlin _ . Harry’s words crashed over him like a tidal wave off the North Sea. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Instantly, Draco pulled Harry into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. He didn’t care that they were in public, or that the space was tight and his hold was awkward. He only cared about taking care of Harry. Holding him as his body trembled and his tears spilled the release he needed. 

“Shhh,” Draco tried to rock him the same way his mother had when he was young, when he stubbed his toe or someone said something crass and mean. He rubbed Harry’s back, threaded his fingers into Harry’s hair, and kissed his temple softly, wishing he could take away the hurt and the pain of it all.

Harry gripped onto him, holding him tight as if he were the rock-strewn shores of his salvation. When Draco kissed his cheek, Harry wrapped his hands around his neck and ran his thumbs along Draco’s jaw. When Draco pulled his head back, Harry was staring at him, eyes glistening, lashes clumped with his tears.

“You’re so beautiful,” Draco murmured, before bringing their lips together in an earth-shattering kiss.

Their drinks, the booth, the pub all fell away as they fell into each other, sharing breaths of air as they kissed, hands moving eagerly up and down each other’s bodies. Draco didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to pull Harry into his lap and suck marks into his collarbone and worship every bit of skin he could get his mouth on. He wanted, and the more they kissed the harder it was to not succumb to his growing need.

He couldn’t, though. There was more to discuss, and he wanted to do it while they were both raw, open and exposed. While they were both vulnerable. Besides, Draco had never done anything more than kissing, not with another person, and he didn’t want to muck it up.

“Wait,” Draco said, slowly and painfully withdrawing his hands from Harry’s hips. “Just...wait.”

“Don’t you want this?” Harry asked, cheeks still streaked with his tears. “Don’t you want me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Draco sighed, clenching his fists so he didn’t wrap them around Harry’s body again. “Of course I do. I’ve wanted you for so long, probably more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but we need to…” Need to what? What could be more important than kissing Harry? He had almost forgotten, before Harry answered for him.

“Discuss limits.”

“Yes,” Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Limits, and wants.”

Potter nodded. “I’ll go first.” He took a swig from his bottle before giving Draco a big grin. “If you were my Dom, I’d want you to tell me things, about your day, about your wants and needs and thoughts as you hold me, as you choke me, as you fuck me.” Potter’s pupils were dilated, deep black orbs with just the hint of emerald green. “I want you to fill my holes and not care if I beg. I don’t even want to choose when I come.” He licked his lips. “I'd want you to decide if, when and how I experience pain or pleasure.”

Draco’s mind instantly filled with all of the ways he had thought of Potter in the past weeks. How he wanted to kiss, and nip, and plunge himself into Harry over and over again. He could feel himself getting hard, and he shifted his trousers in advance of what was sure to be an uncomfortable erection. 

“So if I were your Dom—”

“Which, to be very clear, you are not,” Potter said with a glint in his eye. “Not yet, at least.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew he wasn’t Potter’s Dominant. There were so many more steps towards entering into that deep of a relationship, but Draco couldn’t bother to think of that yet. 

“If I were your Dominant,” Draco continued with a wave of his hand, “and I commanded you to drop to your knees, right here, you would.”

“I would.”

“In front of everyone?”

“In front of everyone.”

“Why?”

“It would please you.”

“Decadent french desserts please me.”

“And so would getting your cock sucked in the middle of a dirty pub.”

Potter said the last line with a sultry wink, but Draco felt his stomach clench.

“And if I’ve never had my, erm, cock sucked…” he said in a low hush.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Mal- I mean, Draco, are you...are you a virgin?”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco doesn't want to be a virgin anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I want to preface the next few chapters. There's a lot of hot steaminess, and there's a lot of unsafe practices. Moreso in the next chapter, but please note that chap 22-23 are full of things Daddy Dom Neville Longbottom would not be thrilled with. If you want to find those items out before reading, please skip to the end notes. If not, read ahead. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my alpha, EvA-Eleanore and my cheerleader, Thunder of Dragons. And Dom!Daddy!Neville.

Why did virgin have to feel like such a dirty word? In the Slytherin dormitories, it had been almost said like a curse. Luckily, everyone had assumed (and he was sure Pansy had confirmed it more than once) that he had lost it long ago, and they never prodded much. 

However, he had been privy to several long discussions of conquests. What places, positions and people his fellow housemates had been screwing all around the castle and the grounds. He couldn’t remember a single classroom or hallway where someone hadn’t hooked up: Crabbe with some girl in Ravenclaw in Charms; Goyle on his knees in Potions; Blaise with more than one skirt in each of the greenhouses; hell, Pansy had been fucked against the stone wall in the Astronomy tower by both a bloke and a bird. 

Draco had wanted to join in, but he hadn’t had the time, or the patience. He had bigger things on his mind, like letting Death Eaters in to torment the school and killing his Headmaster.

After the war, he was basically an outcast. Luckily, he had been awarded his apprenticeship due to his exemplary grades, and he hadn’t wanted to fuck it up with extracurriculars like dating. 

Not that he had met anyone he’d wanted to date anyway. Or had been asked.

“What do you think?” Draco said, pursing his lips. He was trying hard not to pull up his shields, not to hide behind his walls. He sighed, rolling his eyes, and finally admitted. “Yes. I’m a virgin. I haven’t been sucked, or fucked, and I haven’t sucked and fucked and I understand if that makes you want to walk right out of this bar and never speak to me again.”

Harry paused, but didn’t stand. Instead he licked his lips. “The only thing it makes me want is for you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?” He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Did he want to hear goodbye? Draco want sure if he could even mutter words close enough to-

“Tell me what you did that day,” Harry said, his voice now harsh and ragged. Draco instantly felt his cock stir in interest. “Say what you did that first day in class.”

Draco thought back to that day, the first day he had seen Potter in the flesh,in that class, since seeing him on his knees in that dirty alleyway. He remembered that rush, that feeling, those words. The day that had started all of this. 

He felt himself smirk, lifted his hand and leaned in, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Potter’s scar, just like he did that day. The words came back easily.

“They all think they know you, don’t they?” Draco said, his voice deep and rough, as he stared into Potters blown pupils. “But they don’t know you like I do, do they Potter?”

He could feel the heat of Potter’s skin under his thumb, the softness of his scar, the tendrils of his hair. “Such a slut for cock.”

“Yes,” Potter moaned against Draco’s palm as it dragged across his lips. “Slut for your cock.”

“Your lips would look so pretty wrapped around me, wouldn’t they Potter?” Draco couldn’t stop talking, stop rubbing, stop looking at Harry’s blown stare and thinking about his mouth around his length. “Talking all day, but you just want me to use that throat?”

“Fuck,” Potter said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Indeed,” Draco purred, his hands easily finding Potter’s waist. “Every noise you make is for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to make more noises for me, Potter?” Draco said, shifting his hands so one was gripping Potter’s hip. “Put that beautiful throat of yours to use?”

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter groaned. “More than anything.”

Draco knew right then he could order Potter to his knees in the middle of the crowded bar, pull out his throbbing cock and shove it deep down Potter’s throat. He knew he’d love it, that Potter would love it, but that wasn’t what he wanted. 

And for their first time together, Draco wanted it to be perfect. He placed a quick kiss to Potter’s lips, and murmured, “I’m taking you home.”

\---

Draco stepped outside into the dark, cold air. He could feel Potter’s eyes on him the second he walked out the door, but instead of grabbing his hand, twisting them into Apparition and tugging them directly to his flat, Draco pulled something out of his pocket. 

“A fly first?” Draco said with a smirk, as he pulled the tiny broom from his pocket. He wanted to rush Potter home, of course, but he remembered what Ginny and Neville had both said. He wanted to give Potter time to ease into his Submission, and what better way than reminding him about his own tender arse?

They walked into an alley close by, and Draco reversed his earlier charmwork to bring the broom to full size. He centered himself towards the back, and with a glint in his eye, pulled Potter into his lap so he was nestled at the front of the broom. He could see Potter wince as he settled onto the hard wooden handle. 

“I’ll steer, you just relax,” he said into Potter’s ear, and felt him tremble against Draco’s chest. He waited until Potter balanced himself, and then he kicked off the ground, relishing the first moments of flight. 

Pansy was right; flying did have that underlying layer of fear, lungs tightening and heart racing until all Draco could focus on was the air around him and the broom between his thighs. And the man in his lap. 

“Always wanted to fly with you, Potter,” Draco murmured in his ear as the lights of London shone brightly beneath their feet. “You’re so majestic on a broom. So sure, so confident.”

“It was the only thing I had for myself,” Potter said, his voice whipping back in the wind. “Only time I knew I was like my father. That he would be proud of me.”

Draco let one hand go from the broom and wrapped it tightly around Potter’s waist. “I’m proud of you, too,” he said into Potter’s cheek, his eyes focused on the clouds ahead. “So very proud that you figured out what you needed.”

He felt Potter shudder under his grasp, and as he leaned right to head in the direction of his flat, Draco let his hand shift to Potter’s stomach, hard and lean under his thin t-shirt. His fingers danced farther down, until they were resting right above the hem of Potter’s trousers. 

“What’s your word, Potter?” he asked, before he let his hands go any further. “Tell me.”

“Umbridge,” Potter yelled into the wind, and Draco could hear the disgust in his voice. 

He couldn’t help but cackle. “That’ll do it,” Draco said, and then brushed the front of Potter’s trousers with his knuckles. He relished in the tremble across Potter’s skin. 

Feeling emboldened, Draco began to shift his hand up and down across the front of Potter’s jeans. He could feel Potter getting harder, feel the shift of his body as he tried to press against Draco’s hand. “You like when I touch you.” It was a question, but Draco didn’t phrase it as such. He knew in the way Potter was responding how much he liked it. How much he wanted it. 

Wanted him.

He could see the lights of his flat in the horizon, but Draco veered left, wanting their flight to last just a little longer. “I can’t wait to get you out of these,” he whispered into Potter’s ear, knowing he could hear his voice despite the whipping wind. His hand dipped below the hem of Potter’s jeans, and felt his heated skin, his burning need. 

Draco cupped Potter’s cock in his palm, stroking the tip of it with his thumb. It was the first time he had touched someone else so intimately, and he was thankful for a brief moment. He could just repeat what he knew he, himself, liked, and when he heard Potter whimper through the air, he knew he was on the right track.

“I can’t wait to see you on your knees for me, Potter,” Draco growled in his ear as he stroked his cock. “So eager for me to fill your mouth.”

“I’ll be your first,” Harry moaned as he rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, canting his hips to reach Draco’s touch. 

“Your mouth will be the first to wrap around me,” Draco responded, wrapping his hand around Potter’s length and tightening his grip. “Your throat will be the first to take my cock.”

Suddenly being so virginal didn’t sound entirely bad.

He couldn’t tease himself or Potter anymore. Draco gripped the broom with one hand and steered them towards the direction of his home, opening a window with a wandless charm, and gliding them directly into his living room. 

Whether his heart was racing from the broom ride or from having Potter in his home, Draco wasn’t quite sure. Probably both. It was the first time he’d had a  _ date _ in his private space, and he was a bit anxious as Potter tumbled off the broom and into Draco’s arms.

Draco wasn’t a lion. His courage didn’t radiate from his skin. Instead, it lay dormant until culled to the surface. So Draco reiterated the facts in his head.

Potter was here, in his home. They had kissed, and touched, and they were going to kiss and touch some more. Quite a bit more.

And he was going to tell Potter all of the filthy things he wanted to, and Potter would like it.

Hopefully. Or he’d run, fly away and never see Draco again.

No. Draco shook his head. Potter was in his home, and looking at Draco with his big, beautiful green eyes and his lips were parted, waiting for Draco to kiss them, and fill them. 

He wanted this. Potter wanted this, and him. He wasn’t going to flee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad practices include:  
> \- not a lot of talking (who's surprised, these boys barely talk)  
> \- drinking before playing  
> \- playing without discussing limits and boundaries (and safewords!) properly  
> \- maybe exerting oneself? I mean Harry already came that night (from another dom) and now he's playing again? Boy needs some better aftercare!
> 
> The next chap gets worse, but it all gets better in the end! I wrote it this way, because I really feel like sometimes we jump into things we're not prepared for. We rush, because we think we know enough, that we can handle it, and we make mistakes. Some of those mistakes can really mess with us. Luckily (spoiler) Draco and Harry find their way through it, but please note the next two chaps are not...best play practices. If you want to skip chap 22-23, please feel free. Chap 24 & 25 are in good form.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry attempt to scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY we are so close to the finale, and I want to just give all of you a big thank you for reading along on this journey!
> 
> A big disclaimer here: the chapter above is a failed scene. Lots of things go wrong. Safe words are used. Please proceed with caution. 
> 
> It all gets better next chapter, and the finale is THE BEST so please keep reading, but if you want to skip this one, the next chap will fill you in!
> 
> I'm also posting this on Sunday so I can post chapter 24 tomorrow. That way this chap isn't floating out there for too long without its conclusion.
> 
> I'll be posting the last chapter next Monday, the 19th! 
> 
> Another note: I spent a year writing this little version of drarry (& Theville and Ginsy), and I don't plan to stop now that we're just getting to the GOOD STUFF so please subscribe to the series, or to me! And continue on this BDSM journey with the boys as they discover their likes, dislikes, wants and needs. And keep those boundaries and communication streams strong. I'm so proud of their growth, y'all. So proud.
> 
> BIG thanks to Thunder_of_Dragons and Eva_Eleanor who alphaed and betaed this chap (and this story, can you all believe its almost over???), and Malenkayacherepakha who britpicked (incredible friend, you are). Also thanks to TheeStarryknight for betaing and squeeing all over these chapters for me!

Draco was still having trouble feeling in control. His head was spinning, seeing his oh so familiar surroundings with a very unfamiliar Potter filling it. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he needed.

“Sit down, Potter.” Draco ordered, pointing to his favourite leather chair. He had sat there so many countless nights feeling worthless, powerless, lonely. He wasn’t alone now, and he didn’t want to think about his chair without thinking about Potter in it. 

“Do you want me to—”

“I want you to sit, and be quiet,” Draco commanded. He needed the silence to arrange his thoughts, and he needed to gain the control they both needed him to have. “I’m going to step away, and when I come back I want to see you just like that.”

Potter did look beautiful surrounded by leather, his eyes wide and nervous, chin tilted downward, his fingers gripping his knees in anticipation. Draco took a long, lingering glance at him before rushing upstairs to change.

The second he entered his room, he saw that outfit. His  _ Dom _ outfit, as he now thought about it. The very outfit that he’d thought he would have to toss earlier that evening. The life he’d have given up just to be with the man downstairs. 

With a grin that felt very un-Malfoyish (giddy, happy, gleeful), he hung the outfit back up in his wardrobe. He could put it on, and put Potter deep into Subspace, but those clothes were purchased for the club. He was in his home.

Instead, he reached for a soft white t-shirt, and his black denim jeans. At the last moment, Draco pulled on some black suspenders, opting not to don the vest. When he walked back into his living room, he was pleased to see Potter still sitting in his leather chair, his chin still down, his eyes cast to the floor. 

He didn’t even look up when Draco entered the room. He didn’t have to see Draco to feel his presence. 

“You look so good in my chair,” Draco said, his new outfit filling him with the confidence he craved. “I might just keep you there, naked, waiting for me whenever I come home.”

Potter didn’t respond, but Draco could see his chest heaving, his eyes widening. 

“Or maybe on your knees by my door, mouth open. Before I put my bag down I’d shove my cock in it.” He saw Potter shiver. “You’d wait all day just for me to fill every one of your perfect holes.”

Draco was getting hard just thinking about it. Potter, desperate, needy, naked and waiting for him as soon as he walked in. His perfect little cockslut.

And then they’d have dinner, and maybe go for an evening fly. And before bed, Draco would push and pull at the sinews of Potter’s body until he gloriously came. 

Draco would tuck them in to cool silk sheets and pull Harry close to his chest and in the morning they’d eat toast corners and bacon and brush their teeth and head off to work. 

“Stand,” he said. He couldn’t focus on their potential happily ever after until he got through their happily ever now. 

And right now, he wanted Potter on his knees, sucking his cock for the first time. Preferably naked.

Potter stood quickly, his hands dropping to his sides, and his face pointed at the floor. He was submission personified, and Draco’s cock twitched in anticipation. He knew at that moment, he wasn’t taking control from Potter; instead it was freely given to him, to wield as he saw fit. A gift of trust. 

“Strip,” Draco ordered, and to his delight, Potter instantly tugged his shirt off, exposing his lean chest, his hardened muscles. He could practically see Potter’s heart fluttering as his fingers quickly yanked down the flies of his trousers and exposed his length for the first time.

Just for Draco.

Draco hissed through a harsh intake of breath as he took in the beauty of Potter. How long he had denied wanting anything, wanting this, wanting  _ him _ , and now Potter was bared, for Draco to admire for as long as he pleased. 

And he could do just that, if he wanted. He could have Potter stand, posed for him like a statue of the gods, and Potter would. Because Draco asked him. Commanded him.

His cock throbbed in his trousers at that moment, a gentle reminder of what pleasure awaited them. Potter was still focused on the floor in patient submission, but Draco wanted him to watch, to see as Draco shed his outer skin as well.

“Look,” he said sternly, his hands tethered to the buckles of his suspenders. When Potter’s stare met his own, he was overcome by the unbridled lust in his eyes. He licked his lips as he clicked each strap off his shoulders, and Potter’s eyes snapped from his mouth to his hands as if trying to catch it all, remember every moment.

When Draco tugged off his shirt, however, Potter’s gaze went dark before completely darting away. They fell immediately to the floor, towards the safety of wooden slats.

Draco tutted with the tip of his tongue. “I told you to look, Potter.” He knew what Potter was avoiding. The ragged slash of silver that etched its way across Draco’s skin could hardly be missed. He felt it every time he showered, every time he slept. The memory of Potter was as much of a part of him as breathing.

When Potter glanced back, the flame that had been in his gaze was barely a flicker. He swayed uncomfortably, and it wasn’t until Draco snapped his finger that Potter became rigid once again.

He knew the wave of emotions that were flooding Potter; he had felt it himself, the first time he’d seen Bill, or Katie, or Lavender, or Dumbledore lowered into the ground. He had put those marks there; he had to live with the consequences.

With quiet steps, Draco approached. He placed one hand gingerly on Potter’s neck and the other on his cheek. “We all have scars,” he said, holding green eyes in his gaze with every word. “Some live on our skin, and some breathe within us. They mould us into who we are.”

“I’m so, so-” Potter started to say, but Draco shifted his thumb to his lips, pressing inward at the soft, spongy flesh. 

“And one day, if you’d like, I’ll string you up so beautifully and let you make it up to me, but right now I’d rather fill your pretty little throat with something other than apologies.” Draco paused, watching the flame in Potter’s eyes sparkle again. “Now get on your knees.”

Potter obliged, falling to the floor with graceful ease. His eyes stayed on Draco, burning with interest as his lips fell apart into a perfect circle. Draco’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest as he stared back into those beautiful green eyes. 

He felt raw, exposed, too seen. Potter couldn’t see this; no one could. The want, the  _ need _ , the longing that he’d hidden away in the back of a cabinet all those years ago could never be exposed.

But Potter didn’t look scared, or annoyed or pitying. He wasn’t judging Draco; in fact, he looked like he was about to burst into flames like a phoenix, reborn with the heat radiating off of his skin. Potter wanted this, possibly more than Draco did.

Even so, Draco had to close his eyes when he finally stepped out of his trousers. He knew he had a perfectly acceptable cock by any standards, but he still had fear. What if Potter didn’t like it? What if it was smaller than he expected? Smaller than Neville’s, which had seemed so abnormally large at the time and had already staked its claim across Potters skin and-

He forced his eyes open, and forced himself to look down at the man on his knees. If anything, Potter looked more turned on than before, his gaze no longer on Draco’s face but steadfast on his cock, licking his lips as if Draco were about to hand feed him treacle tart.

A part of him still couldn’t believe this was happening. He dragged the tip of his cock across Potter’s bottom lip, testing to see if he would shift away, but Potter stayed still, his body rigid, his mouth open. 

Draco pushed in further, until the crown of his cock was nestled neatly between Potter’s lips. Even then he didn’t budge, didn’t cower or show any kind of disgust. He just waited patiently, submissively, for Draco’s next move.

“You want this,” Draco said, more as a statement to himself than a question for his Sub. 

Potter let out a gust of air, his only response at actually hearing Draco, but it was enough to encourage him to finally,  _ finally _ , thread his fingers through Potter’s thick locks and push his way into his open, needy mouth.

Draco couldn’t hold the same level of control as Potter. The second his cock was surrounded by the tight, wet heat, Draco moaned wantonly, desperate to push himself deeper into the furnace of Potter’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Draco let slip out when Potter’s tongue circled the head of his cock. His nails dug into Potter’s scalp, and before he could even worry about hurting him, Potter moaned so beautifully, sending sweet vibrations across his sensitive skin.

He rocked his hips, pushing his prick further down Potter’s throat. It was like being surrounded by pure fire, licking at each one of his nerves in a delicious flame. Draco couldn’t get enough, and when he looked down at Potter’s mouth engulfing his cock, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Going to fuck your face,” Draco groaned, wrapping his fingers around the base of Potter’s scalp. His earlier training flashed through his mind before he said, “Tap my thigh if you need a break. Do it now so I know you can.”

As soon as he felt Potter’s hand touch his thigh, Draco pulled Potter’s face as close to his skin as it would go. He could Potter’s throat clench around him before he relaxed, welcoming Draco’s cock deep inside.

“That’s it,” Draco praised, as he heard Potter take a breath through his nose. “Take my cock like the dirty slut you are.” 

He held Potter’s face there, so close that his nose was buried in Draco’s tuft of hair and his quick intakes of breath were making his skin tingle. All Draco could think about was Potter, on his knees, Potter and his wet, hot, gorgeous mouth swallowing Draco down, the small whines escaping his throat as Draco plugged it with his cock.

“Yours is the first mouth around me, Potter.” Draco murmured out, reminding himself that this was real, that this moment was one he could cherish forever. 

It was heaven, and hell, and Draco wanted more. He wanted so much more.

He wondered if it would feel just as good, plunging into Potter’s tight hole, as it was delving into his mouth. If sex with Potter was going to be the best thing he’d ever encounter. 

Draco softened his grip on Potter’s neck, allowing him to withdraw his mouth and breathe steadily before plunging back in again. Potter looked up at him, his green eyes blown, tears forming in clumps on his long black lashes, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth as Draco fucked his face with abandon.

He was so beautiful, and so good, so good at sucking Draco off. Practice, he thought. Potter had been with Neville, of course he’d have practice doing this. Draco was the only virgin, the only one having his proper first time in his living room with Potter on his knees, and he probably wasn’t holding his head right, or commanding him enough, or saying the right things and - 

Draco pulled out of Potter’s mouth with a jarring tug. He needed to calm down. He needed to focus. 

He could hear Potter’s pants, but nothing else. The room was so quiet, so still, the night so late that there weren’t even cars driving by. The only thing he could smell was his own sweat, not the honey that usually reminded him of Harry, or lavender that was in his hair potions. His hand went instantly to his throat, but there was nothing there except skin. No collar, no tie, nothing.

Draco felt his magic building right under his skin, raging with insecurities. He could tell it was close, about to burst. His vision started to blur as he tried to focus on a sound, or a smell or a touch, his hands only gripping skin, his nose only smelling himself, his ears only hearing the pounding of his heart as if it was beating directly in his throat and he couldn’t, he couldn’t-

“Canary,” Draco coughed out before the room went dark.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry move forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that last chap was rough. Here's a soothing balm of soft goodness for you.
> 
> One chap left! I have a whole series planned for next year (incl. scening at the club for all three couples, relationship goals *cough* collaring *cough* and very naughty play/dirty talk which was intended to get into this story but...Draco is a precious bean and needed to take his sweet ass time. Please subscribe to the series and stay tuned!

When he woke up, Draco found himself on a soft bed, covered with a very heavy blanket. He could hear voices in the distance, and when he pried open his eyelids, he noticed he was surrounded by green.

“—panic attack,” Draco heard, muffled despite the open door to the vine-covered room. He opened his mouth to call out, but his throat felt so dry and he was so, so very tired. Closing his eyes once more, Draco drifted back to blessed sleep.

When he woke again, the sun was peeking through a window he hadn’t noticed before. The sill was covered with flowers so vibrant he would have sworn they were paintings and not real plants. 

Draco sat up carefully before surveying the rest of the space. Every inch of the walls was covered in greenery, save one which held a small bookshelf and a rocking chair. The chair itself was filled with Longbottom, who was staring at Draco curiously.

“You’re awake!” he said after a moment. “How are you feeling?”

The night’s events washed over Draco as if they were remnants of some far-off dream. Drinks at a restaurant, Harry talking about...Harry on his...Harry with his mouth…

“Harry—” Draco croaked, suddenly gripping the sheets. “Is he — fuck, is he okay?”

Neville smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that Harry brought you here. You...well I think you had a panic attack. A pretty bad one.” 

He remembered; nothing to hold, or smell, or hear and everything spiralled into blackness. Draco sat up, burying his face in his hands. “I fucked it all up, didn’t I?”

“What?” Neville said, aghast. “Of course not!”

“But I failed!” Draco threw out his arms in disgust. “I was supposed to be in charge, and I crumbled to the ground, because...all over...just a fucking blow job, oh Merlin, Harry must be, he must think—”

“Draco, stop and look at me,” Neville said with such force that Draco’s lips instantly clamped together. He clutched the blanket surrounding him as he turned and stared directly at Neville. “Harry is concerned about you, that’s all. We both are.”

“But I’m supposed to be the strong one! And I crumbled the first time we were…”

“Intimate?” Neville suggested, before standing. He moved to sit on the edge of Draco’s bed, and gently pulled his hands from the blanket until he was holding them with his own. “Being a Dom doesn’t mean you’re any stronger than your Submissive. It takes strength to give orders, just like it takes strength to follow them.”

“But—”

Neville tutted. “We take care of each other, alright?”

“But I—”

“And when you fainted, Harry took care of you. He brought you somewhere safe, he brought you here.” Neville gave Draco a small smile. “He didn’t even know Canary was your safe word. He just knew you needed help.”

“I fucked this all up.”

“You did not.” Neville squeezed both of Draco’s hands. “You’re still learning. You both are. And from what I can tell, you still have a lot to discover about each other.”

“He’ll never talk to me again.”

Neville sighed. “That’s not true, Draco. We all have slipped during scenes, especially when we don’t properly talk about things first.” He paused, before taking a deep breath. “We all have insecurities. We all have things to learn about ourselves and our partners. Our limits and boundaries, our wants and needs are constantly changing.”

Draco pulled his hands from Neville’s own. “Like when Harry had you on your knees.”

Closing his eyes, Neville nodded. “That wasn’t my truth to tell.”

“He was in love with you.”

“Things change, Draco. We changed.”

“Did you, though?” Draco said, his voice cracking. “Can you really tell me you don’t love Harry anymore?”

The room became so silent Draco could hear the air sifting through the leaves on the vines. Finally, Neville spoke. 

“Of course I still love Harry.” 

“I knew it,” Draco snapped, wanting to fling the weighted blanket off of his lap and run from the room, from the flat, from the club and everything he had built over the past few months. The only thing that stopped him was the sudden grip of fingers around his wrist.

“Sit back down,” Neville growled, tugging at Draco’s arm. “Please. I need to finish what I have to say.”

Neville then let go of Draco, but his eyes never left Draco’s own. “Please,” he said again.

A former Draco would have said fuck all to this, ran away and hid somewhere. In his closet back at the Manor, or perhaps in the garden, surrounded by peacocks. But he didn’t have that same luxury anymore. The Manor wasn’t a safe space for him. His flat would just remind him of Potter. And something in Neville’s eyes made him curious. Curious enough to sit back down.

“I love Harry, because he’s my friend. I care about him and his happiness.” Neville twined his fingers together. “And you make him happy.”

“I do?” 

Neville nodded. “He feels safe with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t see him as the Chosen One,” Neville laughed. “You only see him as Potter.”

Draco smirked. “Specky git.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t need to prove himself to you.”

“But I—”

“And you don’t need to prove yourself to him,” Neville continued, ignoring Draco’s interjection. “You do have to communicate, however. And your first few scenes should be carried out at the club, where we have safeguards and measures to protect you both from what happened last night.” Neville looked sternly at Draco. “You haven’t even seen Harry’s preference sheet, nor has he seen yours. I should take you both to the stocks for attempting to scene after drinking, anyway.”

Draco felt his cheeks flush as he realised how many mistakes he had made. “I told you I fucked this up,” he muttered, burying his face back into his hands.

“You had some mishaps, but nothing that can’t be rectified,” Neville said encouragingly. “Go on a few more dates and for the love of Merlin, talk some more. When you’re ready, come to the club.”

Draco bit his lip. He couldn’t, wouldn’t mess up again. “Will you help us?” he asked Neville, his voice small and insecure.

“Of course,” Neville grinned. “We take care of each other, remember?”

\---

After he rested, Draco gave Neville a hug before returning to his flat. He spent the day showering and pampering himself, thinking about Harry, and what they had both learned. That night, Draco penned a short letter to Harry and tied it to his owl for delivery.

Harry’s response was almost instantaneous.

_ Looking forward to our date tomorrow. X - Harry _

\---

Draco had learned one lesson; not to rush things. Their next date, they took things slow. A casual cup of coffee in a Muggle shop right outside of the Three Broomsticks. Draco brought Harry a vase of hydrangeas and apologised for getting overwhelmed, for attempting to scene in the first place. Harry apologised if anything he said or did pressured Draco into doing something he simply wasn’t prepared to do. 

“Why hydrangeas?” Harry asked before breathing in the scent. 

Draco picked absently at his nails. “Well, you see, hydrangeas enrich other blooms with their presence. Even when we were in school, and hated each other, at least it was something for me to focus on.” He chuckled to himself. “Perfect Potty. I hated you so I didn’t have to hate my father.”

Harry stretched his hand across their little table in the back corner of the restaurant, and linked his fingers with Draco’s own. Draco couldn’t help but smile to himself, and then lifted his head to wink at Harry. “And also that. Hydrangeas look tough and strong, but they rely on others just as much as other flowers rely on them.”

By the time they were done with their warm beverages, they were sharing stories about the “Potter Stinks” badges ( _ You have no idea how long it took to master the spellwork! _ ) their Houses common rooms ( _ How the fuck do you know we slept under the lake? Harry? Potter, I demand you tell me, you little shit! _ ), Peeves and and Nearly Headless Nick ( _ once saw them boning in the North Tower, even though neither has bones _ ), and what smells always remind them of safe spaces.

“Orange and lavender mostly,” Draco revealed. After a long pause, he added, “recently honey.”

“Honey?” Harry asked. “There was a honeysuckle bush in the Dursleys’ backyard. On nights when I didn’t cook enough or…” Harry swallowed forcibly, “or I burned dinner, they’d send me to throw out the rubbish. I knew I wouldn’t eat that night, so I’d sneak a few flowers in my pocket.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Even to this day, honey makes me feel like I can get through it, you know?”

Draco found that he was clenching his fists tight. If he had the pleasure of meeting Mr Dursley in person, he wouldn’t hesitate to use the strongest magic he could to eliminate him straight out. 

He forced himself to unclench his fist and instead gave Harry a soft smile. “You smell like honey. Even in the rain, all I could smell was honey and lavender.”

\---

Two days later, they found themselves together again, standing at the brick entrance to Diagon Alley.

Draco wanted to show Harry his world, so they started off at  Slug & Jiggers, where he explained to Harry all about the delicate potion he was working on, and how it would hopefully cure and eradicate Dragon’s Pox, instead of causing deaths like his grandfather’s.

Harry nodded while Draco explained the intricacies of heating methods and stirring sequences, even though he had no idea what Draco was talking about. It didn’t matter if he understood; the fact that he wanted to  _ try _ and understand was enough for Draco.

“How about we go visit Theo?” Draco asked, after setting the beaker down carefully. “Wheezes is down the block, and we can look for a toy or something for Teddy?”

“Ron’ll be there,” Harry said hesitantly.

Draco slowly nodded, forcing himself not to panic. “And you don’t want him to know about us?” 

“No, I — ” Harry twined his fingers together. “I already told him, I hope you don’t mind.” He looked quickly to the floor. “Not about the club, of course, but...I told him we were seeing each other.”

Relief rushed over Draco. “And what did the weasel say?”

Harry chuckled to himself, tilting his head upwards to face Draco again. “He said it was about time.”

Draco smirked, before reaching out to grasp Harry’s hand. “I have to agree with Ron there.”

To Draco’s delight, they held hands all the way to Weasley Wizard Wheezes, through the crowded cobblestone streets and past several gaggles of witches and wizards. When they finally reached the front door, Draco wondered if Harry would unconsciously loosen his grip, but instead he just squeezed Draco’s hand tighter while Draco opened the door for them.

Theo was walking down the curled staircase as they ventured through the front door, and greeted them with a big smile. “Well look what the Kneazle dragged in!” 

He then took them on a full tour of the new products he was engineering for their fall line. Draco had always known Theo was smart, inventive, and creative; it was a wonder to see how he was using his abilities to work with Ron and George and design more Wheezes for the shop. He even sent them away with a bag of goodies, winking as he said, “Make sure to try out the purple gel and let me know how it goes!”

Draco had no idea what that meant, but he did know he enjoyed walking Harry to his flat. Kissing him on his doorstep was the best part of his evening. 

Theo owled Draco the next day and invited him and Harry out to brunch that weekend. “All the Sugarquill gang will be there,” he wrote. “Leaky on Sunday at 11, okay?”

They went flying three days after the group brunch. There was something beautiful about soaring way above the buildings, the stars so close he felt like he could just reach out a hand, grab one and make a wish. He knew what he’d ask for. As Draco wrapped one hand around Harry’s waist, the other gripping the shaft of the broom, he already felt like the luckiest man in the world. 

Draco landed them by a grouping of trees, and just like their first date he pushed Potter against the bark, placing one hand around his wrists and another securely around his throat. They kissed like that, heavy and heady, grinding their hips together. 

It had felt so easy, so simple, blissful, and natural to be with Harry like that. He hadn’t worried about whether he was doing anything wrong, or if it wasn’t as good as one of Harry’s previous relationships. It was like they were supposed to be there, in that cropping of trees, finally together.

Afterward, when their lips were swollen and their breathing ragged, they sat down in the grass. Harry leaned against Draco’s chest while Draco pressed his back into the hard bark of the closest tree trunk.

“Do you think we ever get over it?” Harry asked softly, linking his hands with Draco’s own.

“Over what?”

Harry paused, shifting himself in Draco’s lap. “Our fears. Our… our trauma.”

Draco could feel his heart beating in his chest. “We’ve been through a lot,” he said, letting go of Harry’s hands and linking them around his stomach. “Alone...but also together in a weird way.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Harry said, leaning his head back onto Draco’s shoulder.

Draco smiled to himself. “I don’t think we get over it. Our past moulds us into who we are, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“But do we grow from it?”

“Of course,” Draco said, nodding. “Just as strong as the trees that surround us. Our past roots us as our branches stretch for new possibilities, our future.” Draco looked up into the dark web of branches overhead. “We learn to handle it. We learn to cope.” He placed a kiss to Harry’s temple, holding him close. 

“I — I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Harry said in barely a whisper. “We don’t have to...not even in the same room, but would you come home with me?”

Draco wanted to cry, hearing the quiet desperation in Harry’s words. “Of course,” he said, placing another kiss on Harry’s head. “We take care of each other.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry wake up in the same bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, we made it to the end of this journey! As of today, this is a completed fic, but it is nowhere near the end of these boys future. I have lots more planned, and I hope you stay tuned!

Draco woke up in the soft comfort of Harry’s sheets for the twenty-fifth morning in a row. He could feel the mop of Harry’s hair on his shoulder, his leg spread across his stomach, his morning erection pressed snuggly against Draco’s hip. 

They hadn’t tried anything more than kissing since that first night, after their first failed attempt. Draco knew Harry was waiting for him to make the move, and Harry was happy being patient until Draco felt comfortable enough to try again. They talked about it, of course, spending hours at the club reviewing their checks, preferences, and limits. Draco and Harry both had attended private and shared classes with Neville, strengthening their bond as well as their communication.

They held hands, they kissed, and when they crawled into bed that first night Harry had stayed on his side of the bed while Draco had curled on the opposite edge, biting his lip and hoping he didn’t do anything mortifying as he slept.

When he finally opened his eyes, Draco found himself on his back, Harry’s muscled form stretched out along his hip. Harry’s leg was mercifully pinned right above Draco’s hip bone, and his hips were angled far enough away, eliminating any discovery of morning anticipation. However, over the past twenty-five days, the gravitation of their bodies had not been as forgiving.

Especially after Harry’s nightmares. 

The first few nights had been quiet, almost peaceful. Draco has focused on his breathing, the movements of his body as he grew comfortable sleeping next to another person. Not just in the same room, but in the same bed, the same sheets, pillow shams barely touching tips as their legs and arms curled in opposite directions.

It wasn’t until late that first week that Harry had his first nightmare. Draco woke up to the tiny cries escaping Harry.

“No, no please no, not…” was all Draco could make out before he pulled Harry into his arms and ran his fingers through his hair. It was how his mother used to calm him. He had wondered briefly if he would ever feel her touch again before pushing those ugly thoughts aside and focusing on Harry. 

Last night had been the worst of it so far. Instead of the soft cries of angst, Harry had started murmuring out full sentences, not even calming when Draco pulled him close and stroked his hair.

“The fire,” Harry mumbled, “not the fire, must get to him, not let go.” 

“Shh, there’s no fire, Harry,” Draco whispered into his scalp, rubbing his thumb across Harry’s temples. 

“Ron, we have to go back. We have to get him, I need him.”

“Harry, I’ve got you, we’re safe.”

“No, he’ll die in the Fiendfyre, we have to go back. He saved me, I have to save him!” Harry stared frantically waving his hands, pushing Draco away in the process. “He can’t die, I need him!”

Draco gulped, knowing exactly the imagery that was burning through Harry’s mind. He could still feel the fire against his skin, burning everything around him. His eyes instantly felt puffy, his head instantly remembering the feel of Harry’s hand in his, pulling him up, up, up until he was secure on a piece of wood in a burning inferno. As the fire pulled his best friend farther and farther into the flames. 

“Harry, wake up, I’ve got you.” Draco shook him awake until Harry finally opened his eyes and stared into Draco’s own. 

“You’re here,” Harry said, the panic in his voice still audible. “I got to you in time.”

“You got to me in time,” Draco repeated, nodding. He wiped away the newly formed tears from his eyes. “You saved me.”

It took a few rounds of soothing, of Draco rubbing Harry’s back in warm, concentrated circles, before Harry finally fell back to sleep. Draco finally relaxed when he felt Harry’s consistent snores and succumbed to sleep himself.

He awoke the next morning with the first beams of the morning sun. 

Draco quickly surveyed the situation and options in front of them. It was a Sunday, and neither of them had anywhere to be until at least 2, when they were heading over to the Burrow for dinner. He also could tell Harry was still deeply asleep, his breath steady and leaving little warm huffs against Draco’s skin as the occasional snore escaped his lips.

Draco gently began to run his fingers through Harry’s nest of hair. Harry slowly began to stir, his hips instantly jerking back from Draco’s hip bone, his leg shifting to retract from Draco’s skin.

Every other morning, Draco had let those motions happen, small reminders that he was not quite ready to try again, and that Harry would wait patiently until he was. However, Draco knew that he was indeed ready. He could feel it deep in his bones how much he wanted to worship and care for the man in his arms. 

He also knew how much he and Harry truly needed this lifestyle. Since he started attending Sugarquill, his bursts of magic had almost completely sizzled. His mind had been clearer, his confidence higher, and of course, his childhood flame was not only in his bed but in his arms. Harry needed to rid himself of the nightmares, to rid himself of the pressure of the days and the terrors in his dreams. He didn’t just want anyone to help him escape. He wanted Draco. He needed Draco. 

So when Harry began to move his body further away, Draco slid his hand from Harry’s hair and placed it on his thigh, holding him still.

“Draco,” Harry croaked with the first sound of morning. “I’ll go make us some coffee, okay?”

“Don’t move.”

“What?” Harry said, his hand moving to Draco’s chest in an attempt to pull back. 

“I...I’m asking you not to move. I want to hold you a little bit longer.” Draco paused. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s fine with me,” Harry chuckled, wrapping his leg back around Draco’s stomach, but his hips still stayed far away from Draco’s own. 

Draco could still feel the heat from it; the need that was coursing through Harry’s body, and now coursing through his own. They had discussed their sexual needs, preferences, and desires at length. Draco knew Harry wanted him, and he hoped that Harry knew how much Draco wanted him as well. Still, he didn’t want to fuck it up again.

“You’ve been so good for me, Harry.” Draco started slowly, allowing his hands to run up and down the body next to him, firm and now familiar. He felt a small shudder rush under Harry’s skin.

Tilting his head so his lips pressed against Harry’s soft and wild bed of hair, Draco whispered into his scalp. “I want to be with you.”

“You are with me,” Harry murmured, burying his face into Draco’s chest. 

“No, I—” Draco took a deep breath. “I want to be... _ with you. _ ”

Harry lifted his head, forcing Draco to shift his own until they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Oh,” he said, his eyes getting wider. “You want to…”

“I mean, I want to, but all of that...and the, erm, preparation, I’m just, don’t get me wrong, it’ll be great, I’m sure but I just don’t know completely how and maybe if I, or if we—”

“Draco,” Harry said sternly. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, but if you want to, we could just touch each other for a bit?” Harry grinned. “That would be nice.”

His hands paused, gripping onto Harry’s hips. “Just touch?”

“Mmm,” Harry murmured, leaning up until his lips were almost touching Draco’s. “Let your hands wander wherever they’d like.” Draco then felt the hard want of Harry against his side, strong and secure. “Touch me,” Harry said, before pressing his lips to Draco’s own.

It was easy to get lost in Harry’s kisses. Even though they’d done this more than a dozen times, each one felt like a present he couldn’t wait to unwrap on Christmas morning. Harry kissed with such a hunger, as if everything was only moments from being ripped right out of his hands.

Speaking of hands, Draco was trying not to focus on where his own were travelling. He usually let them rest around Harry’s wrists, where they were safe, or in the curves of Harry’s waist, where they held him secure. He had never let his hands drop lower, farther, all the way to—

“Oh,” Harry let out a surprised sound when Dracos hands made their way to his firm,  _ how could it be this firm _ , bum. Seriously, he knew his cock was hard by the many times he had awoken with it pressed to his hip, but how could one’s bum, one’s magnificent bum, feel so perfect under his palms? Draco gave the firm mounds a squeeze, just to confirm. For logistical purposes of course. 

The way Harry rutted into him made Draco yearn to squeeze again. When he realised he could, that he had consent and permission and the yearning to do so, he did again. This time...for pleasure.

Harry moaned into his mouth as their hips naturally began to rut against each other. The friction, even through Draco’s silk pyjamas and Harry’s cotton pants, felt more heavenly than anything he’d ever experienced before. Even flight, soaring high above the earth where his father and his obligations couldn’t touch him, paled in comparison to the feeling of just touching Harry, just being with him in that moment. 

In the back of his mind, Draco wondered if he’d feel the same panic he had that day, when Potter was on his knees and he was clawing at his throat to feel something, anything but the rawness of his own skin and the beat of his own heart. Maybe it was the fact that they were still clothed, that Draco could feel familiar sheets, and smell familiar smells and hear familiar sounds of Harry panting into his mouth as they kissed and kissed and rubbed and rubbed. Draco only felt peace, calmness, not fear or horrible anticipation of failure.

He could only feel bliss. Wonderful, satisfying bliss of knowing he was desired and cared for. Of knowing he was trusted. Wanted. Not for his money or his name or his blond hair or his snark. For his faults and his virtues. For himself. 

Draco felt tears prickle his eyes as he came, blissfully in his silken clothing. He kept kissing Harry throughout his orgasm, wanting to taste him on his tongue as his orgasm shuddered through him. 

Harry continued to roll his hips against Draco’s thigh, panting into their kisses, finally coming when Draco built up enough courage to press his finger against the needy entrance of Harry’s hole. He let out a cry when he came, sucking Draco’s tongue into his mouth until his own body stilled.

They held each other through the aftermath, bodies clammy and shaking, mouths moving in delicious syncopation. Draco knew his first time with Harry would be incredible, but he never thought that such a simple act would change everything; that it would change how he felt about the earth below and the sky above. That it would make him feel invincible.

“That was incredible,” Harry murmured into his skin when their bodies stopped convulsing. 

“Was it?” Draco closed his eyes, hating the way that the second something incredible happened to him, he was whisked back into insecurity and self-loathing.

“Yes,” Harry said with a grin, wrapping his arms tight around Draco’s waist. “It’s not every day I get to have sex with my boyfriend.”

Draco felt his heart swell. “Boyfriend?” he asked, voice shaky.

Harry’s smile faded into one of only doubt. “Only if you want, of course, but I’ve...well I’ve thought of you as my boyfriend since that first day.”

“At Wetherspoons?” Draco grimaced.

“No,” Harry said, a tiny smile crinkling the sides of his mouth. “Since the Snidgets.”

“I didn’t even know if you liked me then,” Draco replied with a frown. “You saw the Mark, and I was clumsy, and sweaty and Teddy was there and I turned down your dinner date and-”

“Hey.” Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands. “You showed up. For a date. With me.”

“I was so nervous.”

“So was I,” Harry said, his eyes soft and green and beautiful. “I wanted...well, I don’t usually get what I want.”

“You...you wanted me?”

“Have for a while, yeah.” Harry’s eyes dropped to Draco’s lips before he continued. “Before the club. Even,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Even before Neville, I wanted you. I just couldn’t…”

Draco’s heart was beating so rapidly in his chest. He knew his own reasons for not letting Potter, not letting anyone know his true feelings for the Boy Who Lived. It was inked on his arm why he couldn’t reveal his secrets. But Harry...everyone loved him, supported him, cared about him and trusted him.

“Just couldn’t what?” he whispered, Harry’s words hanging heavy in the air.

There was a long pause before Harry answered. “Couldn’t want,” he finally responded with a frown. “Nothing was mine. My scar was Voldemort’s, my clothes were Dudley’s, my Patronus was my father’s.”

“I know what you mean,” Draco nodded, his chin hitting the top of Harry’s head. “No one has looked at me and not seen my father, or worse, the Dark Mark.”

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s nose. “I’ve only seen a spoiled arse when I look at you.” He paused to laugh, before adding, “I’ve never seen your father in your eyes.”

“No?” Draco said, shocked.

“Both of your eyes are grey, I suppose, but yours are ...warmer. Softer.”

“Less Death Eater?”

Harry tilted his head before chuckling. “Maybe that’s it.” His hands found Draco’s shoulders, then knotted behind his neck. 

Draco smirked. “So now that we’re officially...boyfriends...” He waited a beat, savouring the feel of the word on his tongue, before continuing. “I’d like to go to the club. Together.”

“Together?” Harry grinned. “We’ve gone together, multiple times you know.”

“Not only...walking through the front door and waving to Oli as we head to different rooms. I mean,” he twined his fingers between Harry’s, relishing how close they were and how much they had already experienced together. “Together, together.”

“Like in a scene?” Harry asked quietly. Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Draco dipped his head until his lips were pressed into Harry’s cheeks. “I know how eager you are to get on your knees,” he whispered into Harry’s skin, relishing in the way Harry trembled under the heat of his words. “Every noise you make is for me, isn’t it. I want my name in your mouth when I finally let you come from my cock.”

Harry pressed his hips once more against Draco’s thigh, so Draco could feel how hard he had suddenly become. “I think we need a couple more rounds in this comfy bed before we head to the club, don’t you think?”

Draco nodded, his own cock growing hard with interest. “Sounds like the perfect Sunday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story as a challenge to myself, to see if I could write 50k. I now know I can (whew) but I also know that it's not my preference. I get burned out around the 15k mark. This is all to say, most of the next parts of this fic will be shorter ficlets, mostly PWP w feelings. Thank you for reading along, and I hope you continue to do so.
> 
> Things we can look forward to: their first scene together! A group scene with Neville! Spanking! Orgasm Delay! Collaring!!!!! and much more cuddles and hugs and kisses and loooooove!
> 
> Thanks again, y'all, for reading along, for warming my heart with your kind words, for keeping me motivated and supporting me when I lagged behind on my posting schedule. It means so much to me. I hope you all enjoyed.


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